


Ain't No Rest for the Wicked

by Kellyscams



Series: Ain't No Rest Universe [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Age Difference, Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Angst, Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkwardness, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bucky, Collars, Dirty Talk, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom/sub Play, Dom/sub Undertones, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Flirting, Drunkenness, Embarrassment, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Fluff, Forced Orgasm, Guilt, Hand Feeding, Hand Jobs, Impact Play, Kink Negotiation, Kitty!Bucky, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, Marks, Mild S&M, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Play, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Past Abuse, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Pet Names, Pining, Praise Kink, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Work, Sex Worker Bucky Barnes, Smoking, Spanking, Sub Bucky Barnes, Subspace, Top Steve, Unreliable Narrator, authority kink, crygasm, light punishment, pet play during chapter 8, switch steve and bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 22:21:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 266,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3185375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kellyscams/pseuds/Kellyscams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's just moved back to Brooklyn after spending ten years in California trying to make a life for himself as an artist right after high school. Having escaped to the other side of the country following the sudden death of his mother, Steve feels guilty about abruptly leaving all his friends for so long, unfulfilled, scared and nervous about started college at his age, and unbelievably lonely. So when he meets Bucky Barnes, a young sex-worker, at a bar the night before his first day of classes, temptations might be too high to resist. </p><p><i>One</i> night paying for sex with the most sinfully gorgeous guy is nothing to brag to the papers about, huh?</p><p>S'not like he'll ever see him again anyway...</p><p>...Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the tags especially since this one includes Bucky as a sex worker and I know that can make people uncomfortable, but I do try to handle that as non-offensively as possible, so if that’s going to bother or trigger anyone please read at your own risk.

Steve doesn’t know what he’s doing here. The bar hasn’t changed much and yet it feels foreign. Like he’s never set foot in it. He shouldn’t have, of course, since he hasn’t been here since he was eighteen and not even legal to set foot in the place then. Didn’t stop him and his buddies from coming though. 

There’s still music pumping through the place, loud and blaring, but now it’s coming out of shiny, digital machines from the DJ in the corner rather than a band. Stage is still there. Like maybe they have some sort of oldies throwback day with live music. People are pushed up together on the dancefloor. Sweat and breaths mixing as bodies rub and grind together in rhythm with the house music. Steve watches from the bar. Watches hot hands running over silky, sweaty skin. There’s an ache between his legs. A longing in his stomach. It’s been months since someone’s touched him like that. Even longer since it’s actually meant something.

Steve sighs again. Wonders once more what he’s doing here. Back in Brooklyn after all these years. After escaping almost a full decade ago to California. To shorelines and sunshine, hot summers and warm winters. Tried to make a name for himself in the art industry. A world full of a lot more politics than Steve could have ever realized. Ass kissing and the who you knows over what you knows. Didn’t do so bad for himself. Had a few gallery openings. People do know his name. But… well…

“I’m sorry, Mr. Rogers,” Said too many countless curators for Steve to remember their names. “It’s not that your work is bad, but your lack of credentials and education is just… well…”

Holding you back. We’re looking for someone with more a more formal background. Or some other variation of the same. 

It was Sam’s idea to come back. Sam, one of the few pieces of his life he just couldn’t leave behind for good. No matter how hard Steve tried, wanted to forget this world and move on to another, there’s just some of it he needed to keep with him. And Sam’s one he’ll never regret. 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Steve mutters into his drink. “I feel like an idiot.”  
Sam pats him on the back. “You’re not the first person to go back to school, Steve.”  
“I’m twenty-eight.” He sighs. “I’m gonna be with a bunch of kids. I should be going to night school.”  
“You’re not even gonna be the oldest one there, Steve. But s’not too late.” Sam reminds him. “Can always do night classes. But…”  
“Gonna take twice as long.” He mumbles. “I know, I know.” Steve finishes off his beer. Raises his glass to the bartender to ask for another. “I just can’t believe I’m giving _lectures_. How did I get roped into that?”  
“Good way to make some extra money, right?” Sam shrugs. “You made some decent money out west, but no one ever complains about extra dough in their pocket.”

In that, Sam’s completely right. Steve did make a decent chunk of cash from selling some of his work. But that was just online sales. Craigslist and Ebay and Etsy. Helped get a nice savings account, but didn’t help make the name for himself he was hoping for.

“And anyway,” Sam goes on, “You do got the hands on experience. Know what it’s like out there unlike some of these professors that’ve been teaching for years.” He gives Steve a laugh. “Besides, what’re old folk like us for these days?”  
Steve laughs. “You got me there.”  
“And you know…” Sam pauses, twirls the bottom of the beer bottom around in circles along the top of the bar. It makes a rattling sort of noise that Steve make out even over the pounding bass of the house music.  
“Yeah?”  
“For what it’s worth… I…” He sucks in a deep breath and gives Steve an awkward grin. “I’m glad you’re back, Steve. Missed you, y’know?”

Steve can feel the glands in his throat swell several sizes. Ten years they’ve managed to avoid talking about this. Really it was only a matter of time. Eventually it was going to come out. The stool under him feels wobbly and unsteady. No longer offering its full support under its now judgemental opinion. 

“Yeah, I…” Steve rubs his eyes. Looks at the guy he’s been friends with since preschool and hasn’t seen since for more than a few days at a time since they graduated high school. Unlike the stool under him, Sam doesn’t hold any judgement. That doesn’t mean Steve doesn’t feel guilty. “Sam, I’m so fucking sorry.”  
“What?” He sounds genuinely confused. “Steve, what’re you…”  
“I shouldn’t have left. Not… I mean. I just…” 

Face in his hands, Steve rests his elbows up on the bar. There’s a hand on his back. Soft and reassuring, rubbing up and down. 

“Hey, hey, Steve,” Sam comforts. “It’s okay, buddy. You did what you had to do. You don’t have to apologize. No one holds it against you.”  
“I ran away, Sam.” Steve says into his palms. Loud enough to be heard, but into his hands nonetheless. “That’s not me. Not what I do.”  
“No, you’re right, it’s not, but…” He goes to move Steve’s hands. Steve makes sure the moisture in his eyes isn’t visible. Not there to betray him right now. “Steve, your mama had just died. Pretty suddenly. I mean, it was our senior year. We thought we had our whole lives ahead of us and yours… sorta fell apart. No one can really blame you for needing a fresh start somewhere else.”

Steve glances at him. Into those pretty, deep brown eyes of his that haven’t gotten less pretty even after all these years. 

“Yeah but…” He sniffs. Feels a blush creeping under his skin at the mention of another subject they’ve not approached in all this time. “You and me… we… had just…”  
“I know.” Sam agrees. Gives Steve’s thigh a squeeze. “But we were kids then. Water under the bridge? Will that make you feel better? I’m not mad, Steve. Never was. We never made it to a serious thing anyway.”

But they had taken so long just to get to a not-serious-place. After dancing around each other for years, of innocent flirting and pretending to not be hitting on each other. Early morning runs and after school workouts just to spend some extra time with one another. And when Sam finally came out as bisexual and Steve admitted he thought he might be, too -- though, recently, he’s been thinking the term pansexual fits him better -- they decided to have a proper date. Went to prom together. And then… everything fell apart.

“I just… Sam, I’m just really sorry.”  
Sam cups Steve’s chin in one hand. “I know, Steve. It’s okay. It’s always been okay.”

Somehow, Steve gets a grin out. Doesn’t feel he deserves this. Deserves to be so easily forgiven. Or, rather, so it seems, doesn’t actually need forgiveness. 

“Thank you, Sam. Dunno what I did to deserve you.”  
“God, Steve, you never fucking change.” He chuckles. “You’re the good one. The fucking saint of us all.”  
“I don’t…”  
“You’re the best guy I’ve ever known, Steve. You think you being out in California has changed that? You think I don’t know you’ve been helping little old ladies cross the street? Your neighbors up the stairs with groceries? Separating you garbage and recycling and still too dumb to back down from a fight to defend every Tom, Dick and Harry under the sun?”  
“Alright, alright!” Steve laughs. “I get it, I get it.”  
“See? Steve Rogers will always be Steve Rogers. East Coast, West Coast and everywhere in between.”  
“Thank you, Sam.” He says. He takes another sip of his drink. Smacks his lips together and smiles. “I really don’t know what I’m doing here though.”  
“Same thing you were doing in California. Figuring it out.”

Steve nods. That’s the only answer that makes sense. The only thing he can do right now. Just try to figure it out. It’s just… after a damn decade, he’s hoped he’d be a little closer to the answer. 

“Oh man,” Sam’s checking his phone. “I gotta go. Maria’s expecting me any minute. You wanna catch a cab with me?”  
Steve shakes his head. “Nah. I think I’ll stick around here for a little longer. Just… I think I need…”  
“You’re nervous. I get it. Don’t be out too late, right?” Sam jabs him in the arm. “You got school in the morning.”  
“Shut up.” He grumbles. “Tell Maria I say hey, will ya?”  
“Will do. Get home safe, buddy, okay. Don’t forget to take your meds.”  
“Yeah, yeah.”

He waves over his shoulder as Sam gives him one last farewell and a good luck. Sam Wilson’s never changed. Not once in all these years has he missed a night when he was in the country. Whether a phone call, an email, a text. Always reminding him, always looking out for him. _Don’t forget to take your meds_. Never makes Steve feel babied or bad about himself. Just makes him feel cared about. Not alone, even when he was three thousand miles away and more alone than he’s ever been.

Because the truth is, Steve’s been lost ever since the day he got on that fucking plane and it landed at LAX. He wanted to turn around and head back here, where all his friends were, people who loved him, people who he loved. But he just couldn’t. They all had lives they were excited to start. Tony was going MIT and now runs his father’s business and Sam had joined the Air Force. Went overseas, came back and took a position working as a counselor in the VA. Betty accepted a scholarship to Culvar University where she currently teaches. Bruce came out of medical school as a radiologist. And what did Steve do? 

Spent ten years alone waiting for his life to begin while everyone else actually got started with theirs. And now, Steve’s finally getting around to his. He’s trying not to see it that way. Trying to look back at the past decade as experience. Something he did that not everyone even gets the chance to do. He moved across the country. Tried to make it on his own at eighteen. And… didn’t do all that bad. He was able to take care of himself for ten years, all on his own. Working odd jobs. Catering, parking cars, retail, stocking shelves--sometimes all of them at once. He survived for awhile. 

It didn’t take too long, though, to realize that surviving and living were two different things. He wasn’t happy. Smiled like he was. Laughed with some of the people he became friendly with. Had sex when he thought it meant something. Had sex even when he just wanted to enjoy the fun of it. Worked hard, helped neighbors and made friends. But Steve can’t recall a time when he really felt happy. 

Steve’s hunched over his drink. Still not sure what he’s doing back, but… not really sure why it took so long to come back in the first place. There was nothing for him in California. No _one_ for him either. Not for lack of trying. He just couldn’t make any connections. Couldn’t anchor himself to any sort of life there. 

“You want another?”

Steve straightens up. Looks at the bartender smiling at him. She’s pretty. Curly hair pulled back in a ponytail, a few friendly tendrils hugging the sides of her face, dark skin glowing softly in the dim lights above the bar. 

“Scuse me?” Steve asks. Too distracted. He didn’t quite catch what she’s said to him.

She points to the glass between his hands. The empty glass.

“Nother?”  
“Oh.” His finger skims the very top of the glass. Circles around it once before he slides it forward. “Sure. Thanks.”

She takes it and then gives him a meaningful look. Searching for something. Steve’s not quite sure what. Eyes are worrisome as she continues her assessment. She cocks her lips up and clicks her tongue once against her teeth. 

“You aren’t driving, are you?” She checks.  
“What?”  
She chuckles. “You’re not from around here, are you?”  
“I… huh? Yeah, I… I don’t live far.”  
“So then you’re not driving, right?”  
He shakes his head. Gets her question now and smiles. “Nope. I can always walk if I can’t get a cab.”  
“Kay. Just checking.” She gives him a wink. Possibly flirting. Steve can’t really be sure. “Here ya go. Lemme know if I can get anything else for you, okay?”  
“Oh… yeah. Okay. Thank.” Fingers pull at the collar of his shirt. “Thank you.” He says once more as she makes her way to the other end of the bar.

Steve peers down at his newly filled glass. It looks back at him. Smiles warmly. He’s had a few already. Not enough that he can even really feel the affects of it. Add this one and maybe another though…

He drinks it slowly though. Sips it and turns on the stool so he can watch people on the dance floor. The crowd seems to have doubled. Or maybe it just seems to have now that he’s sitting there alone now. He watches all those people, some who clearly know each other, others complete strangers. Everyone enjoying the company. Their bodies buzzing with liquor and music.

Steve’s eyes wander over the sea of people, body reacting instantly to those he finds most attractive. It’s just been so long since he’s had any real intimacy with anyone. He misses that contact. There’s a blonde with a pixie cut and round hips. A tall, black haired man with neatly trimmed facial hair. A woman with caramel skin and dark hair down to her backside. And there’s a redhead. Very beautiful. Fierce looking. Body moving like water over rocks. Professional and with years of experience. She’s dancing with someone. With the most sinfully gorgeous person Steve’s ever laid eyes on. 

He’s grinding up against the redhead, long legs and arms, currently wrapping around her body and pulling her in closer. Mop of brown hair trying to keep up with him as his head moves from side to side. Even from this far away--to be honest he’s not really that far, but now Steve feels miles away--he can tell those lips are plump and luscious as they press up against the spot between the redhead’s shoulder and neck. His head snaps up when she says something to him and he laughs. Full body laugh, too. Face lighting up, crinkling a bit, until his eyes land on Steve. Of all people in the entire place, he happens to catch a glimpse of Steve. He winks, too.

So maybe it’s not Steve he’s looking at. Steve takes a peek over his shoulder. Surely there’s someone behind him. Someone the brunette knows. But there’s no one there. No one in the immediate area anyway that’s paying any attention, not giving the attention that Steve is, for him to acknowledge anyone. When Steve whips his head back around, sights immediately set on him again, he’s met with a steely gaze and a wicked smirk. Tongue inching out to just graze that bottom lip. Steve’s cheeks turn hot and pink. 

The redhead is gone. He’s dancing with a guy now. Backing up against him so that Steve has a full frontal view. Sees the sweat glistening on his skin, the way his partner’s hands grope his chest as they dance. His hips rock back and forth, smoothly, sensually. When his hand reach back and around his partner’s neck, the bottom of his shirt lifts, revealing thick, hard abs. 

Steve shakes his head. Pulls in thoughts that aren’t about pushing that guy up against a wall and making him pant his name in order to keep his dick from getting as hard as it’s trying to. He looks down at his drink and tries not to look back at the dancefloor after taking a few sips. He’s staring and ogling and it’s rude. But no matter what he finds to keep his eyes on--his drink, the bartender, the DJ, other dancers--they keep floating back to _him_. Like his eyes are drawn to him. Magnetized. Doesn’t help that everytime he _does_ look over, he’s also being watched with that overly interested, almost predatory expression. 

After nearly fifteen minutes and five songs of this game, of Steve trying to not stare and failing miserably, he puts his empty glass down on the bar. He’s thinking maybe it’s better to leave before he gets himself into some sort of mess. He pats his pockets, makes sure he’s got everything. Phone, wallet, keys--not for driving, of course, just to get back into his place. Steve’s about to get up, to leave, call it a night. He’s going to start his life tomorrow. Ten years late, but better late than never, right? Steve takes one last glance at the dancefloor. Wants to see him one more time before he never does again. He freezes.

He’s coming over, those steel-grey eyes that keep flashing every time the lights pulse over them locked right onto Steve. There’s a tentative grin curled up on his lips. Knowing. He’s smiling with the ease and confidence of someone with practice and experience. As he gets closer, his pink tongue slides out and brims the very edge of those smirking lips of his. 

“Hey there!” He greets, long, angular body leaning back against the bar. Purposely positioned, Steve’s sure of it. “I saw you watchin’ me. You like what you see?”

Steve feels his throat tightening. His whole body tightening as he forces his eyes to focus on this man’s… this _boy’s_ face. He’s young. Younger than Steve.

“How old are you?” Steve asks instead of answering the question at hand. The question whose answer is most definitely _yes_. A hard, very firm yes.

Those eyebrows flick up. Teeth press into his bottom lip and he straightens up just a bit.

“What’re you, a narc?”  
Steve rolls his eyes. “Kids still calling cops that these days?”  
“Kid?” He laughs. “You’re not _that_ much older than me.”  
“Then how old _are_ you?”  
“Old enough.” He replies, which is not a real answer. “You don’t gotta worry about gettin’ arrested or nothin. Can I get you a drink?”  
“Are you old enough to buy?”

He smiles wider.

“Hey!” He calls to the bartender. “Can my buddy get another drink?”  
She nods. “You wanna another, too, honey?”  
“Sure.”

He turns back to Steve, lips pursed. Tempting tongue pushes his right cheek out a bit. Even when he can’t see it, Steve is turned on. Steve shakes his head. What is even happening right now?

“Better?” He asks.  
“Fine.” Steve grumbles as the bartender places two drinks down in front of them. Steve’s beer and what he assumes in a rum and a coke for his new buddy. “What’s your name?”  
“Whatever you want it to be.”  
“What?”  
“Or it’ll cost you.”  
“I don’t understand.”

His head tosses back in a laugh. Whole body, shining with sweat, white shirt and black jeans hugging tight to his chest and legs, all shaking with it.

“You’re cute.” He says. “You’re not from around here, are you?”  
“Used’ta be.” Steve chugs half his beer in one gulp. Needs to in order to keep his eyes off this kid. “Why?”  
“No reason. So you gonna pay me or you just gonna gimme a name?”  
“You really charge people for your name?”  
“Five bucks.” He nods. “I cost lot more than that for other things.”

Steve glances back at him. Cheeks burn red as it clicks. Why he charges for his name. What’s happening. Brain finally snapping into place.

“You’re… are you a prostitute?”  
He smirks again. This one accompanied by an arrogant chuckle. “I prefer the term full service sex worker. But if you really wanna be insulting, then sure.”  
“Oh…” Steve can feel his cheeks burning even more. “M’sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”  
“You _are_ cute.” He laughs. “So how bout it? You gonna pay for my name? Or you gonna give me one?”

Steve should pay him. He’s insulted him once already. But the idea of paying someone just to hear their name? Especially when he’ll just as easily lie as give his real one? Steve knows when he’s being hustled.

“How bout I just call you kid?”

His eye get wide at that. Irises expanding. When his chin dips down, those cheeks of his get pink. The flush of his skin gets darker with an actual blush and he blushes like he’s not used to it. 

“Whatever you want. You gotta name?”  
“Do I charge you for it?”

He shakes his head. Blush gone now and smirk back on those juicy lips.

“Not how this works.”  
“Ah.” Steve’s not sure if he should lie or not, but opts for the truth. “Steve.”  
“Steve.” He tries it out, eyes very focused on Steve’s. Like he’s watching for his reaction when he says Steve’s name out loud. Steve tries hard not to react at all, but when his name falls off his tongue like that, slow, deliberate, it’s hard not to breathe out a hard exhale. The kid sees it, too. Licks his lips again. “So, you never answered my first question, Steve.”  
“Oh. Which one?”  
“You like what you see?”

Steve swallows the blade cutting into the flesh of his throat. His eyes glide over the body in front of him. Can’t really seem to help it. He nods.

“Yes.”

He chuckles, leaning forward. Almost close enough for their arms to be touching, but just not there yet. 

“So, how bout it?”  
“How bout what?”

He doesn’t exactly roll his eyes at Steve, but he doesn’t really _not_ roll them either. Finishing all but the last of his drink, he puts the glass down on the bar just hard enough that it makes a point of yelling at Steve.

“You sure you’re not a narc?”  
“Yeah. I’m sure.”  
“What’d you do then?”  
“I…” There’s no answer to that, so Steve just shrugs. Says, “Nothing.”  
“You do nothing?”  
“Yeah. What’d you do?”  
“People.” 

He cracks himself up with that one. So much that there are tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

“I guess I walked into that.” Steve mumbles. “I meant, is this all you do?”  
“No.” He shakes his head. “I do other shit, too.”  
“Why’d you do this then?”  
“I got bills to pay. Mouths to feed. There ain’t nothing in this world for free.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Easy money. So… you game?”  
Steve twists his mouth up. “Do I really look that desperate?”

He snickers, puts a hand on Steve’s thigh and it takes all Steve’s willpower not to sigh contently. With just that one touch. What’ll happen if he touches more?

“Desperate?” He seems to think on that for a moment. Smiles like he’s just teasing. “No. Lonely though. I can be good for that.”

He leans in close again, this time as though he’s going to press up against him. Steve’s throat feels dry. There’s too much hot air in this place. The walls seem to have closed in and everyone is staring at them even though not one person has so much as glanced in their direction. 

“I’ve… never done this before.”  
He laughs again. “I’d never have guessed.”

Something a lot more important than Steve’s experience in such matters suddenly pops into his mind. 

“Are you drunk?” 

He backs away. Eyebrow stitched and confusion written all over his face. Head rattles and eyes blink not once, but twice before he can seem to find his voice. 

“What?” He sounds just as baffled as he looks.  
“Drunk. Are you? I mean… are you drunk? Are you sober enough to consent?”

The confusion slowly clears. Turns to wide-eyed surprise. His mouth forms the word ‘wow’, but it doesn’t actually come out. 

“Guess there really _is_ a first time for everything, huh?” He says with a slight shake of the head. He nods to his glass on the bar. “I’ve had quite a few of those, but I’m not drunk. Swear.”  
Steve starts to guide him away. “Not taking that chance. Not if you’ve had…”  
“Wait, wait…” He grabs the glass and hands it to Steve. “Here, finish it.”  
“What?”  
“Go on.”

Steve sighs, but takes the glass. Doesn’t bring it to his mouth right away. Just stares at the kid for a moment until he gets an encouraging nod from him. A little ‘go-on-go-ahead’ sort of motion. There’s not that much left in it, but as soon as it touches it the tip of his tongue, Steve knows what he’s getting at. 

“There’s… nothing in this.” He says.  
“Nope.” He agrees. “Just cola. I don’t drink on nights I work.”  
“Well. Um…”  
“Come on, Steve,” When he says his name again, so soft, so sweet, as if he’s been dying to say it his whole life, Steve’s stomach flips. His heart skips a beat and he wants to scoop this damn kid into his arms. “I can show ya’ a real good time. Keep you good company. You don’t need to be so lonely.”

A breath catches in his throat and Steve can’t believe he’s seriously considering this. 

“H-how much?”  
That makes another crooked grin pull up on his lips. “Normally? Two hundred an hour. But for you we’ll make it a buck. Being your first time and all.”

Shit. It’s not like he can’t afford that. He can afford twice that much. It’s just… is he really willing to do this? To pay for sex? For some company? Is this really what he’s come back to Brooklyn for? 

“Fuck me.” He mutters. What he means to be under his breath, but he must say it loud enough to be heard since he gets another chuckle out of the kid.  
“If that’s what you want.”  
Steve rolls his eyes. “Alright. You’re on, kid. Lead the way.”

His eyes grow large, glistening with excitement and intrigue. He takes Steve by the hand as though he needs help getting off the stool. Which he might. Steve feels shaky and wobbly. The ground beneath him no longer as sturdy as it once was as he’s led out the door.

***

The kid takes Steve to some shabby looking hotel around the corner, which he can’t help himself from thinking about all the damn cliches. It’s a newer building. Wasn’t here when he left. And actually, on the inside it’s much cozier and a whole lot less cliche. Makes Steve feel a percentage better about the whole thing. Shiny new floors, big chandelier with cascading teardrop crystals hanging down and throwing off little rainbows on the floor, an electric fireplace in the middle of the wall surrounded by several oversized chairs and couches, currently occupied by a few people sipping drinks from plastic cups. A few of them seem to nod at the kid as they walk by. Steve’s sure their gazes linger knowingly on him. Judging him as he follows to the check-in counter. 

“Hey, baby!” The woman behind the desk greets when the kid strolls up, leans one arm across it and flashes his toothy smile at her. “What’re you doing here tonight?”  
“Eh, had a cancellation. Got myself some fresh meat.”

Steve can see he’s still smiling, but the woman’s gaze leaves the kid, narrows and zeroes in on him instead. Harsh and pointed. Not quite judgemental, but assessing. Seeking worth and searching for danger. Eyes gliding up and down his body as though trying to pull forth each and every secret Steve’s ever tried to hide. For a moment, he’s pretty sure those penetrating ocean orbs accomplish just that. 

She licks her teeth, gums and all, before turning back to the kid, eyes leaving Steve at the very last second.

“You sure you’ll be alright?” She asks. “You in any sorta trouble? Guy looks like a narc.”

Steve does his best not to sigh while the kid bubbles up laughing again. Turns with that bright look on his face. Sun rising over the sea. 

“Nah,” He says to the lady. “I think he’s on the mark.”  
“Alright, baby, but… you lemme know if he tries any funny business. I’ll have Carl down here in a heartbeat.”  
“Thanks, Ruth.”

She starts doing some stuff in the computer. Asks if he wants the normal room to which he says yes. When the issue of payment comes up, Steve’s stomach tightens. The lady, Ruth, mentions something about putting it on the kid’s tab, but also adds another jab in Steve’s direction hinting she thinks he should pay. The kid chuckles again, but Steve’s not sure that’s such a bad idea.

“I’ll… I’ll pay.” He murmurs. Finding his voice hoarse and dry. Quiet and sounding very far away. Ears seem clogged. “Will that… make everyone feel safer? It’s okay.”

Both of them stare at him. The kid’s eyes get that surprised look again and Ruth’s gaze soften before getting suspicious.

“What’s your angle?” She asks.  
“What? No, nothing. I just…” Steve shuffles his feet. “I… am I doing this all wrong?”  
The kid laughs and pulls him forward to loop their arms. “First time for everything, I’m telling ya’. Look at this, Ruth,” He beams at her. “My own knight in shining armor.”  
“Yeah, yeah. Cash or credit?”  
“Um…”

Steve’s not sure at first. If he pays in cash, there’s no paper trail. No evidence that he was ever here. But then, that’s sort of defeating the purpose of paying for the room. He pulls out one of his credit cards--notices the kid’s eyes grow large when he sees how many are in his wallet--and hands it over to Ruth.

She scans it over for a moment before running it through her system. Shakes her head as she continues her work.

“Steven Grant Rogers.” She huffs. “Sounds like a serial killer. Is that what you are?”  
“ _What_?” Steve squeaks. “No! I’m not… I just didn’t wanna be alone, that’s all.”

Her eyes flick back up to him and for a second Steve thinks a wave a sympathy passes over her. The kid’s hand is on his arm now, too, stroking up and down; soothing, nice. An act of friendly, familiar comfort that Steve would believe was genuine if he wasn’t going to be paying for all this. 

“You aint from around here, are you?” Ruth asks.  
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Steve wonders. “Have things changed _that_ much since I’ve been gone?”

She actually chuckles as she passes back his credit card along with a room key. 

“You gotta nice face.” She mumbles. “Makes me wanna trust you. Don’t make me regret that.” Ruth lifts her hand, allowing Steve to take his card back and the kid grabs the key. “There you go. Check out’s in two hours. Fifty dollar service charge if you decide to keep it longer.”  
“Thanks, Ruth!” The kid shouts, already dragging Steve away and towards the stairs, rather than the elevators. “Come on, Steve. Clocks ticking.”  
“Am I paying two hours for you?”  
He laughs. “Well, you got the room for two hours. You can choose how long you decide to keep me.”  
“Hundred dollars you said, right?”  
“An hour. Right.”  
“Kay.”

They go up two flights of steps to the third floor. No troubles finding the room of course since it’s apparently ‘the normal’. Kid slides the room key in and opens the door. Slips in and kicks his shoes off in front of the door like it’s home. 

“Wanna get comfortable?” He asks. “Shower or something? Some people like to shower first.”  
“Um…” Steve just stands there. Watches as he hops up on the king-sized bed. Dressed in gold and maroon sheets and bedding. Gryffindor at its finest. Tons of pillows waiting to suck them into a world of feathery softness. “Can we… just talk?”

He’s in the middle of shrugging out of his t-shirt and stops with it halfway off his head. Looks like he’s not sure quite what to do with it now. After a few seconds he decides to keep it on.

“You wanna talk?”  
“For now. Is that okay?”  
“Whatever,” He shrugs and plops back on the bed. “You’re paying. What’dya wanna talk about?”  
“Well for starters, how old are you? Seriously?”

He grunts and scoffs. Fishes into the back pocket of his tight, black jeans and digs out his wallet. He pushes back up on his elbows as he gets something out of it and tosses it lightly over to Steve. Steve catches an ID. Looks it over. New York State License. Thumbnail like a photoshopped picture of course, cause this kid’s the prettiest little thing Steve’s ever seen. Name of Clint Barton. Date of birth puts him at twenty-two. Only one problem. 

“This is nice and all,” Steve says, “But I’ve worked in enough bars to know how to spot a fake I.D. a mile away.” He flings it back on the bed. “If you’re gonna fuck around with me I might as well just leave.” He heads towards the door. “You can keep the room. Just…”  
“No wait!” He exclaims. “Okay, okay! You win!” Steve looks over his shoulder. Kid’s upright on the bed now. Going through his wallet again. “Here. Look.”

Steve sighs and goes over to look. He’s got his fingers covering his name and address. Fair enough. He did say he charges for his name, and his home address just makes sense to keep hidden. Besides, Steve’s mostly interested in how old he is. He does the math quickly and breathes out a swear.

“Shit.” He swears once more. “Fuck. You are a fucking kid.”  
“Twenty.” He clarifies. “I’ll be twenty-one next year. March. S’not that long away.”  
“You’re still a fucking kid.” He mumbles. 

Websites pop into Steve’s mind. Pictures and videos of young little things and flashing gifs that read barely legal. As if that’s some sort of consolation. He shakes his head, disgusted with himself. Disgusted because he still wants him. Wants him so bad it hurts. He looks back up when he hears a quiet chuckle.

“Most people get off on the whole thing.” He pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, and Steve’s amazed he didn’t see them there the whole time. Sticks one in the end of his mouth and lights it. “How old are you anyways?”  
“Twenty-eight. You’re not supposed to smoke in here.”  
He chuckles. “You’re not supposed to pay for sex either, but here we are. Twenty-eight? Jesus, you make it seem like you’re some cradle robber or something. You’re only eight years older than me.”  
“You’re not even old enough to buy a beer.” Steve points out. 

It doesn’t really help that Steve is getting off on the whole thing. Every time those big eyes glance up at him. Each time that mouth moves. Any time he talks. Not so much the age thing. Just… _him_. There’s something about him. The pull of his lips and curves of his body. Silk wrapped voice and seacasted eyes.

“Put the cigarette out.”

He takes another drag of it and laughs on the exhale. 

“What’re you worried about? Think they’re gonna arrest you for smoking in…”  
“I’m paying you, right?” Steve interrupts. Scolding. Authoritative enough that it makes him fumble over whatever smartass thing he was trying to say and peer up at him wide-eyed and slack jawed. “Now put the cigarette out, kid.”

An impressed sort of smile creeps up on his lips. Pink touches his cheeks and he snuffs the cigarette out on the bottom of his shoe. 

“Kay. I’m sorry.” He spits on it, too. Makes sure it’s fully out before flicking it into the trash bin by the desk just a few feet from the bed. “Okay?”  
“Yeah.” Steve feels the need to clarify. “I have asthma.”  
“Oh.” He actually looks like he might feel bad now. “Sorry. I didn’t… I’m sorry. You don’t need to explain. You _are_ paying. S’not like me to get all defiant on a client unless that’s what they like.”

Steve shuffles his feet on the floor. Shifting weight. Left to right back to left again. He scratches to back of his head and feels a pair of steely eyes on him. Makes him even more nervous.

“Y’know, you can _pay_ me.” Kid says. “Maybe that’ll break the ice.”  
“Oh yeah, um…” He pulls his wallet back out. “Don’t suppose you take credit, huh?”

He chuckles at himself. Thinks he’s making a joke, but the kid actually laughs like he’s amused again. 

“Hey, whatever’s good with you. You can use one of those plastic things.”  
“Wait, what?” Steve rattles his head. Confusion seems to make a permanent home in his mind tonight. God, what the fuck is even going on with him anyway? “You… take credit cards?”  
“Gee wiz, grandpa, I sure do!” He mocks, high pitched voice, all innocent and childlike, and yanks a phone out of his other back pocket. “See this darn fangled gadget? I just whip out my magic app right here,” He clicks an app and a tap screen shows up, “And lookie there! All you gotta do is touch your card to my phone and payment’ll go right into my paypal account! Ain’t that just the bee’s knee?” 

Steve stares at him long enough that he clears his throat and it ends up turning into an awkward giggle. 

“Didn’t realize I was paying you to be such a smart ass, kid.” Steve remarks, holding in his own chuckle as he drops four fifty dollar bills on the bed next to him.  
“You want the full two hours, huh?” He smirks up at him after stuffing the money into his wallet. “Can’t mind my mouth too much then.”

A little more comfortable now, Steve sits down. Not too close. On the corner, while the kid takes up most of the middle. Slides out of his shoes and pushes them to the side of the bed. 

“You said you used’ta live here.” Kid says. “You just move back?”  
“Um. I’m… in town for a few days.” Steve’s not sure why he lies. Just doesn’t feel like he’s real right now anyway.  
“Oh yeah? From where?”  
“California. I moved out there a few years ago. After I graduated high school.”  
“No kidding?” 

He’s laying down again. Has one foot propped up on the mattress, one hand tucked behind his head, an arm stretched across the bed. A picture of perfect ease while Steve sits rigid and stiff on the corner of the bed.

“Yeah.” 

Steve coughs. Forces it. Just to do something.

“How come you moved there? You go to college or something?”  
“No. I wanted to be an artist.”  
“You couldn’t do that here?”  
“I…” Is he really about to tell this kid? This kid who doesn’t even have a name things that he barely even told the few friends he made out west? “Um… my mama died.” Yes, apparently he is. “My senior year.”

He doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. Long enough that Steve glances back at him. He’s staring up at the ceiling. Seems to be thinking really hard about something. Eyebrows are pulled in and that hand that was once loose and relaxed is balled up. Hurting the pillow above his head. 

“How?” He wonders. “If that’s okay to ask. You don’t have’ta say if you don’t wanna.”  
“Cancer. Stomach cancer. Found out in April. She died a few days before I was supposed to graduate.”  
“Shit.” He mutters. “Sorry. You left then? Cause you didn’t wanna be here?”  
“Yeah, sorta. Stayed till after my birthday in July, but… things were different. Everyone was… I dunno. Full of life or something.” Steve glances down at him. He’s still staring up at the ceiling. “Sorry. Don’t mean to be a buzzkill.”

He grins, but his eyes stay focused upward. 

“That’s alright. You want another drink?” He points to the left. “There’s a minibar in here.”  
“I’m not giving you alcohol.”  
He scoffs. “I already told ya. I don’t drink on nights I work.”  
“You shouldn’t be drinking at all.”  
“I think drinking is the least of the illegal things that I should be worried about, Steve.”

Steve opens his mouth to say something, but there is a point to be made there so he doesn’t say a word.

“So how long?” He asks the kid.  
“What?”  
“How long have you been doing this?”  
He shrugs. “Bout three years.”  
“How come?” Steve wonders. “I mean, you don’t really look like a pros… um… a sex worker.”

Chuckling, he stretches out on the bed again. He glances at Steve, eyes narrowed. 

“And what precisely does a sex worker look like?”  
“Oh…” Shit. “Did I just insult you again?”  
“Yeah. Not just me. Sex workers in general, huh? Get whatever image you got outta your head. You don’t know me. Don’t know them. You just got shit you’ve seen in fuckin’ movies and tv to go on, right?”  
“Um. Yeah. I guess.” Steve trails his fingers along the comforter. Seeking encouragement and finding little. “I’m sorry.”  
“S’okay.” He grins and nudges his foot into Steve’s leg. “Just don’t do it again.” He gives him a wink. “Anyway, s’not like I’m doing it for drugs or nothin’ so you don’t gotta worry about that. Like I said, easy money.”  
“Hm. You like it?”  
“I mean… S’not like most people plan on it. Or well, I suppose some people do. Don’t plan on makin’ it my life’s career or nothing. Just gettin’ myself by for now.”  
“That’s not an answer.” Steve points out and puts a cautious hand on his knee. “Is that okay?”  
“Dude, you’re fuckin’ _paying_. What part of this don’t you get?” He laughs again. “Yeah, I kinda like it. Sometimes. Feels sorta good to feel wanted for a change. Even if it’s just an act. Other times… well, it’d be nice to…”

He cuts off there. Snaps his mouth shut with a little, audible clap of his teeth and looks up at Steve. Head lifting a bit.

“Do I really have to keep answering that?”

Steve tries to keep his arousal under control. Very aware that he’s actually seeking permission right now. He’ll lie of course, if Steve says he has to keep on answering. Knows how to work a false into a very believable answer with batting lashes and licking lips, soft tones and velvet touches. Decorates thorns with rose petals and makes even the most astute non-the-wiser. But he’s still asking for permission to stop and that’s making Steve’s dick very, very hard. 

“No.” He answers softly. “Not if you don’t want to.”

He notices, too. Sees the erection tenting in Steve’s jeans and sits up. His tongue snakes out and skims his upper lip.

“Thank you…” Steve’s not sure how he does it, but his eyes get big and wide, so endearing and innocent he’s sure he’s going to burst. He’s got something up his sleeve. Something he’s about to unleash and when he does, Steve knows this kid’s a pro. “ _Sir_.”

The whimper that climbs out of Steve’s throat is definitely pathetic, but he can’t hold it back. It makes the kid smile again, but he folds it in. Keeps the charade up. 

“Hm. So _that’s_ what gets you going, huh? Bet you never did _that_ before either.”  
“I…” Steve shakes his head. “I…”

That’s where he’s wrong. Steve _has_ indulged in these sick and twisted fantasies before. Has poured over hours and hours of research when he came across the right terms over the internet. Has been to munches and clubs. Has participated in lessons and events. Has had his share of play dates and even short term relationships before. 

This is different. They’ve not talked about anything. Steve doesn’t even know his name. He’s _twenty_. Steve’s _paying_ him. Yet he’s sliding off the bed. Getting onto his knees between Steve’s legs which are getting wider, spreading apart with Steve really even thinking about it. 

“Can I touch you, sir?” He asks, voice all high and innocent. “Please?”  
Steve sucks in a deep breath as hands come close to his thighs but don’t touch, not until he nods and breathes out, “Yes.”

Expert fingers reach for the button of Steve’s jeans. Start undoing it and the zipper, easily work his pants open and then shimmy them down. Steve helps him out a bit by lifting his hips. Kid’s already licking his lips and pressing a kiss into the bulge in Steve’s boxers. Steve’s head drops back. A shiver crawls up his back, runs through the rest of his limbs.

“Wait…” He whispers. “What…” He chokes on his next breath when the kid’s tongue sneaks in through the opening of his boxers. “What’re your rules? How’s this work?”

He looks up at him. Grins again like Steve’s said something funny and keeps his face right where it is. 

“Anything goes.” He murmurs. The vibration of his voice sends lightning through Steve’s belly. “You’re paying. No rules.”  
Steve shakes his head even though he can’t see it. “There’s gotta be rules. S’not like I can just punch you in the face.”

That makes him flinch. Barely, but Steve can see it. Still, he shrugs and peers up at him again.

Says, “I like it rough. Some people like it rougher. Told ya’. You’re paying. S’up to you.”  
“Whoa, wait a minute.” Steve takes him by the shoulders and sets him back. He leans back on his heels and looks confused that Steve’s stopped him. “You’ve let people punch you in the face?”  
“I…” Guilt lines his face, like having to admit this to Steve makes him feel bad. Steve can’t really pick apart the act from reality right now. “Told ya, Steve. Some people like it rough. S’no big deal or nothin’.”  
“No big deal?” Steve shakes his head and moves back further on the bed. “No it’s a big deal…” He falls short, unable to call him kid right now. He sighs and pulls out his wallet. Puts five dollars on the edge of the bed. “What’s your name?”

He looks at the money then back up at Steve. His head lowers, chin down into his chest.

“James.” He whispers. “But you can call me Bucky. M’friends call me Bucky. I let my favorite tricks call me Bucky.”

Steve slips two fingers under his chin to lift his face. Eyes stay downcast until Steve clears his throat and tells him to look at him. 

“Is that true? Or are you just saying that cause I’m paying you?”  
A tiny grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. “It’s true.”  
“Okay. You shouldn’t be letting people punch you in the face, Bucky. They’re paying for your services. Not to abuse you. No amount of money should ever be worth that.”

Bucky’s eyes shine. They almost look wet with tears. Like maybe that’s the first time anyone ever said something so kind to him. Even though Steve hardly finds it kind. Just true. 

“Yeah well…” He sniffs. Tosses Steve’s words off to the side and presses his lips together. “What’m I gonna do? I gotta make money.”  
“You think people aren’t gonna pay you just because you have limits? You _do_ know what you look like, right?”

Steve glances down when Bucky flashes his arrogant grin back at him. All knowing, yet somehow still flattered. 

“You like the way I look, Steve?” He murmurs. Creeps forward a little on his knees but doesn’t try anything.  
“Uh, yeah…” He scratches the back of his neck. Finds nothing by means of comfort from it. “But you already know that. We’re getting off topic. What _don’t_ you like?”  
“You really wanna know what I don’t like?”  
“I’m paying you, Bucky. I get what I want, right?” 

His eyes land hard on Bucky. Voice holding every intention of following through and receiving what he’s paid for. That pulls a reaction from Bucky, too. His pupils grow, covering the grey with nighttime desires almost completely. 

“Y-yes.”

Steve leans forward. Makes Bucky shrink a bit into his shoulders. He cups Bucky’s cheek and squeezes enough so that he’ll feel it. Doesn’t know where this confidence has come from. Perhaps knowing that Bucky’s done things like this before. Or a desire to be someone that treats him better than he’s been treated in the past. To show him he deserves that. Even if it’s all just an act on Bucky’s part, it won’t be to Steve. 

“Yes what?”  
“Oh.” He smiles. Falls back into the role he’s being paid for. “Yes, sir.”  
“Good.” Steve’s stomach clenches. An outright pleasant spasm that makes fireworks shoot off in his chest. “Now, out with it.”  
“What I don’t like?” He goes on once Steve nods. “Um… I don’t like it when people hit my face.”

Bucky’s voice is soft and quiet. Doesn’t like to admit this, as though saying it out loud is some sort of betrayal to his other clients. Hand still cupping his cheek, Steve starts to pull it away only to have Bucky grab it and keep it there.

“Not like that.” He says. “I… that I like.”  
Steve smirks. Leaves that hand there. “Okay. What else?”  
“Uh. People, they…” He shakes his head. “Never mind.”  
“No. No way.” Steve’s hand falls to the back of Bucky’s neck. He pinches a bit. Bucky gives a soft gasp, eyes falling shut. “Out with it.”  
“Mmm.” He groans. Liked the pinch, Steve thinks. He takes a few seconds to open his eyes and give up the information. “People don’t use my name, those who know it anyway. They like to _call_ me names, though. Things like whore and slut and shit. I don’t… I mean…”  
“You don’t like it.”  
He shakes his head. Looks embarrassed by it. “No. I like…” He falls silent. Bites down on his lip. Steve nods for him to go on. “I like… nice names. I like to be… good.”  
“You wanna be good for me, Bucky?”

He nibbles on his lip again and now Steve’s not sure if he’s acting for him again or really means it. 

“Yes, Steve. Sir. I wanna be a good boy for you.”

If he _is_ acting, he’s amazing at it. Steve wouldn’t doubt for one second that this was exactly what Bucky was into. A match made in heaven. Starcrossed… something or others instead. 

“Then you need to tell me what else you don’t like.”  
He nods. “People like to make me feel worthless. Like, I like being bossed around and all,” Steve thinks he might actually be telling the truth right now, “but people… treat me like a thing. Which is… sometimes it’s cool. I have one lady who likes to use me like a table.” He runs his fingers through his hair like he’s proud of this and Steve’s instantly jealous of whoever she is. “But some people spit on me and one dude had me drink his piss.”  
“You…”  
“I didn’t see that guy again. I mean, whatever, to each their own and shit, but that’s not my thing. He only did it to demean me though. Only cause… what I do. That’s what most of them see. Just what I am. Not who I am.”  
“So you wanna be taken care of then, too?”  
“I…” His eyes light up. Steve might have just handed him the missing piece of a puzzle he didn’t even realize he was trying to put together. “Yeah. Yeah, I think that’s it. I mean, don’t get me wrong, dude. I got this one guy who brings me flowers and chocolates and writes me really lousy poetry. But he fucks me and then clams up and hurries back to his wife I bet.”

Steve watches Bucky’s face darken slightly. That’s something that must bother him. Even if he tries to not let it get to him, it does. Steve doesn’t respond right away. He just looks at the boy in front of him. Kneeling. Waiting for another question or for further instruction. Now he’s not so sure about this. Bucky looks so vulnerable. Sad even. He’s not lying when he says he doesn’t mind doing this. Enjoys it. But there is a part of him that’s looking for more. And Steve understands that. Thinks that maybe this kid and him might understand each other better than anyone.

“Steve?” Bucky murmurs. “Hey, you’re not getting cold feet on me are you?”

Well if that isn’t the understatement of the century. Steve’s getting cold _everything_. Doesn’t want to be just a notch in Bucky’s belt. Someone who’s just used him for sex, paid for or not. He has no desire to ever put that look on anyone’s face. 

“Um… look, Bucky, I don’t think…”  
“Ah, hell, Steve, don’t do this.” He huffs. “I fuckin need the money tonight. Got some stupid shit to do in the morning and got stiffed already once.”  
“You can keep the money. I didn’t mean to waste your time.”  
“Fuck. I can’t keep your fuckin’ money if you don’t get nothing.” Bucky grunts and swears and yanks Steve’s money back out. Flings it at his lap. “Bad fucking business. Fuckin’ hell.”

Bucky rocks back and rises up to his feet. He’s grumbling as he trudges towards the door. Shoves his feet into his shoes without even picking them up. He’s gonna leave. And Steve doesn’t want him to. Isn’t sure really what he wants, but does know he wants Bucky to stay.

“Wait, Bucky…” He calls, reaching out and grabbing nothing but air. “Don’t go.” Steve picks the money back up and holds it out. “Here. I’m paying you to stay.”

Bucky eyes him from the door. He wipes his fingers along his lips and flips his shoes back off. His eyes roll when he takes the money back.

“Are you always like this?”  
“I told you.” Steve says. “I’ve never done this before. I’m…”  
“You’re nervous.” Bucky finishes for him. “I get it.” He cups Steve’s face and presses a kiss into his cheek. Trails a few pecks up to his ear where he whispers, “Just relax. I’ll take care of you, Steve.”

Steve looks at him. Their faces are close, but Bucky doesn’t move until he knows it’s okay. Steve’s already almost backed out on him once. He can’t this time. Not when he feels Bucky’s delicious breath hit the side of his face. Steve grabs a handful of Bucky’s shirt and pulls him in closer, slams their lips together and shoves his tongue inside Bucky’s mouth. Bucky’s hands start inching up Steve’s shirt. Fingers, thin and long, knead into his skin. They’re soft and warm and Steve wants his hands to touch more of him. Steve moans deeply into the kiss when Bucky’s crotch grinds into his as he climbs onto his lap. Just like he imagined when he watched him on the dance floor. 

When Bucky breaks away, Steve’s breathless and panting and dick’s straining beneath his boxers. 

“You got me here, Steve,” Bucky nearly taunts, straddling his lap and thrusting against him. It’s uncomfortable, the denim grinding up against his hard cock, but it feel so fucking good. “Got me for,” He glances over Steve’s shoulder. At the clock, presumably, on the nightstand, “a little over an hour. What’re you gonna do with me?”  
“I don’t… _fuck_ ,” Steve grunts when Bucky gives him one good thrust. Sucks in a jagged breath through flared nostrils. “I don’t know…”

He didn’t know when he got here. Came up with a plan of action. He’s lost it now. Has no fucking clue what to do. Can't even get his brain to form a coherent thought. 

“Alright.” Bucky murmurs. “That’s alright. How bout this…” He lifts his own shirt up and over his head, leaving his hair messy and disheveled. Bucky combs those long, soft fingers through it, but it doesn’t do much to neaten it. His shirt is tossed somewhere across the room and he leans back a bit, resting his hands on Steve’s knees. “You wanna touch me, Steve?” 

Steve tries to swallow, wants to answer, but his mouth has gone totally dry. There’s nothing there to moisten his tongue. Bucky’s body, what he can see of it so far, it’s completely exquisite. A work of art. And Steve knows art. 

“Yes…” He’s not even sure if he says it loud enough for Bucky to hear. He can barely feel it slip off his own tongue. 

Bucky presses his teeth into his lip and takes hold of Steve’s hand. Presses Steve’s palm into his chest, runs it up and down, and tilts his head back as he does. Lets soft moan come out, like Steve’s touch is the one thing he’s been craving his whole life. After a few moments, Bucky takes his own hand away and Steve’s hand explores his body freely. Steve’s fingertips scrape against his abs, catching between the hard, natural grooves and making four, pink lines appear. With his hand free now, Bucky palms the erection pushing up against his jeans. He groans and closes his fingers. 

Steve wants his mouth again, so his fingers card through Bucky’s hair and he pulls him in to kiss him more. This pulls another moan from Bucky’s throat, almost immediately, and he starts thrusting away, rough and fast, like he can’t help himself. Steve grabs onto his hip to still him, fingers digging into his skin. On his lap, Bucky struggles to move his hips, whimpers when Steve won’t let him. 

Since he doesn’t get what he wants there, Bucky starts kissing him more feverishly, like Steve’s the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. His hands grab the bottom of Steve’s shirt. He tears it up and off of him before Steve even has a chance to process what’s happening. Normally he’d stop him. Steve doesn’t like to have his shirt off, but he can’t help giving in to whatever Bucky wants to do. Instead of going back to kissing him, his tongue laps along his chest. Bucky’s lapping comes to an abrupt halt and he jerks away. Eyes look at Steve long and hard until he skims his fingers over his torso again. His mouth seems to be trying to form words though nothing comes out. Steve immediately covers the scar over his chest, where doctors cracked him open as a child to fix his weak heart.

“What?” Steve asks, looking down at himself like maybe there’s something else he’s never noticed before. When Bucky doesn’t answer, he gets a little concerned. Has he done something wrong? “Bucky? What’s wrong?”  
“I… _fuck_ , Steve, you’re fucking gorgeous.”  
“What?” He chuckles. Nervous and out of breath and most definitely not gorgeous. “No m’not.”

“Fuck yeah you are.” He says, eyes wandering over his body, guiding his hand away and making Steve blush. “You’re fucking _hot_. Couldn’t tell under that baggy fuckin shirt you was wearin but god damn look at this body,” He runs his hands all over Steve’s abs and down his arms, then starts trailing kisses along Steve’s collarbone, right across his throat and not sparing the wet, sloppy noises either. “Shit I bet you kill em’ out in California.” Bucky breathes betweens pecks. “You inta’ ladies, too, dude?”

“I…” Steve groans as Bucky sucks a little harder on his neck. “Don’t leave marks. I can’t…” Then he doesn’t care, not when he feels his teeth dig lightly into his skin. “Fuck it, oh _shit_ … um… yeah, yeah, I like… everyone…”  
Bucky chuckles. “Bet you had em’ all lined up. Hollywood and all.”  
“No… I…”

Steve’s grip around Bucky’s waist is getting tighter. He can’t help it, clutching onto him this way. Never wants to let go. Not when he can feel Bucky’s hard cock pressed up against his own, trying desperately to rub against it. Bucky’s mouth is back up on this side his throat, sucking and kissing and licking and nipping.

“What else you want, Stevie?” He whispers. “You didn’t shell out two bills just for a fuckin’ lapdance, did ya?”  
“Um… no, but…” His reply falls short when Bucky’s tongue starts nuzzling over the last mark he’s left. Steve sighs. He’s not thinking straight. Can’t form a proper thought. “I don’t know. Can’t… think…”

Bucky chuckles. Steve can feel his lips turn up against his skin. Feel his breath spreading over his throat.

“Fair enough.” He sits back up and licks Steve’s lips. “You like my mouth, Steve?” Steve nods. “You want me to kiss you all over?”

Steve whimpers. Eyes flutter close, mouth hangs up just slightly. Bucky kisses him again. 

“Y-yes.” He says after Bucky inches away. 

Grinning, Bucky takes hold of Steve’s hand and slowly brings his fingers up to his mouth. He inches them in. One by one. Tip to knuckle to base. Slicks them up and swirls his tongue up and over and around. Slowly, teasingly. Eyes on Steve, Steve knows, but Steve can only watch those sinful lips pulling his fingers in. 

Steve holds in whimper after moan after groan until Bucky abandons his hand and leans in for Steve’s left nipple. Tongue flicking it, teeth grazing it, lips sucking it. 

Something inside Steve snaps then. Or comes into place. He’s not sure which. All he knows is that he’s tugging at Bucky’s jeans, practically ripping them off of him. Needy, wanting. Fucking _now_.

“Get these off.” He’s saying. “Get em’ off.”

Bucky’s rushing to do as he’s told. Fumbling a bit to hurry up and snickering quietly in the process. 

“Is that all I had to do to get you to let go?” He taunts. “Really, Steve…”

“Bucky, shut up.” Steve growls. He does, instantly, and Steve yanks those boxers down down his legs. Bucky’s cock is just as perfect as the rest of him. Long, smooth, uncut, tip shiny with precome, and Steve grabs onto it with the hand still moist with Bucky’s spit. Pumps once and Bucky yelps in surprise. Falls forward to brace himself on Steve’s shoulders. But Steve guides him back up. “Stand up straight, Bucky.”

“But…” He’s already restless. Already struggling to catch his breath as Steve works his hand back and forth. Fast and not slowing down. “Steve…”

“I said stand up _straight_ , Bucky.” Steve repeats, adding just a bit of a militant type charm to his voice. Keeping it soft, yet holding a firmness to it. One that makes Bucky turn his head to gaze at him. Eyes wide and, Steve thinks, hopes, is really turned on, and _not_ just because he’s hand-fucking his dick. “You said you’d be good for me. You’re gonna be a good boy, right?”

“Oh…” Bucky whimpers and struggles a little but manages to push away from Steve. Stands up and jerks about as he attempts to keep straight. “Yes… yes, sir. I’ll… be good.”

He’s fallen back into the role that Steve’s paying for. Bucky’s eyes shut tight. He bites down on his lip, face contorting in all sorts of different ways and hands falling in and out of fists.

“Arms behind your back.” Steve instructs. The second, the _instant_ , the words are out of his mouth, Bucky’s doing it. Listening so wonderfully. “ _Fuck_.” Bucky’s eyes open. “Look at you.” He says. “So pretty. You’re so pretty, Bucky. Such a pretty boy.”

Bucky smiles. Shy, actually. Not because he’s being paid for sex. Not because Steve is a stranger and jerking him off. His smile is shy because Steve is praising him. And Bucky likes it. And he’s not used to it.

So Steve does it again. 

“What a good boy you are. Doing as your told. So good for me, Bucky.”

His eye actually glisten with tears and Steve thinks maybe he’s gone too far. Bucky goes to move his arm, probably wants to wipe at his face. He doesn’t. Steve hasn’t said he can move. He slows his hand.

“I’m sorry.” Steve says softly. “Did I…”  
“No, no.” Bucky pushes himself into Steve’s hand more. “Don’t stop. _Please_.”  
“Kiss me, Bucky. You can move your arms.”

A grateful sort of whine breaks from Bucky’s throat as he lunges forward to do just that. His arms wrap around Steve’s neck and he whimpers against his mouth and Steve continues rubbing his hand over his dick, massaging his thumb over the tip and spreading the moisture there over. 

Grabbing onto his shoulders, Steve pushes Bucky back down to his knees. He peers up at him once he’s there. Eyes big, round and innocent looking. His hands are in his lap as he waits, squirming in his place like he’s getting very impatient for whatever Steve wants.

Steve slips out of his boxers and when his erection is finally free, Bucky stares at it like his dick is the grandest thing he’s ever seen. He tries not to let it get to his head. Just like with the compliments from earlier. He’s paying the kid for God’s sake. Bucky’s a professional. Probably says and acts this way with everyone. Or, at the very least, knows how people tick. All it takes is a few minutes of time with his clients and he figures out how they work. Knows the inner workings of their minds. Can unravel their thoughts like Christmas lights, make them blink if he wants them to blink or all stay on a once. Puts them up all neat and shiny and perfect. 

“Good _God_ , Steve.” He whispers. “You gonna fuck me with that? _Please_? _Sir_?”  
“You want me to fuck you, Bucky?”  
“Yes, oh yes, _please_. I’ll be your good boy, sir. Please, Steve…”

As soon as Steve’s name slips off his tongue, Bucky covers his mouth with his fingers. He looks nervous. Looks like he thinks he’s done something wrong. 

“What?” Steve asks.  
“I’m sorry.” He says. Character dropped for a moment. “I don’t normally… was that okay?” Bucky rattles his head. Gets out a self-deprecating chuckle. “Sorry.”

Steve thinks he may understand. That begging--those pretty little pleads for Steve to fuck him--that was all Bucky. Not in character. It was real. Only Steve hadn’t realized it. Wouldn’t have either if Bucky hadn’t stepped out of their little bubble. The apology, the nerves--all from Bucky voicing his own desires rather than listening to his client’s first. 

“You’re gonna be good for me, right, kid?” Steve asks. Sees the ease return to Bucky. Tension melting out of him immediately. “Are you gonna earn it?”  
“Yes.” He whispers. “Yes, sir.”  
“You were using your mouth a lot before, you know.” Steve reminds him. “Were being quite the smartass with it, too.”  
“Yes, sir, I was.” He nods, lips turned down in a cute pout. “M’sorry, sir.”  
“Should we put that pretty mouth of yours to better use then? See if you can earn a reward?”

This makes a little whimper rise out of Bucky. He looks so fucking _innocent_ when he gazes up at Steve like that. Virgin young when he’s anything but. He nods and opens his mouth. 

Steve gives himself a few tugs before glances down and then back up at Bucky. 

“Come get it.”

Bucky grins, gratitude in the corners of his smile, and leans forward. He licks the slit of Steve’s cock first. Cleans up the precome there. Hums and smacks his mouth like he enjoys the tastes. His tongue darts in and out of his mouth, licking up and down Steve dick before he takes little suckles of his tip. All the muscles in Steve’s body are tight. Fire ignites under his skin. There’s only one problem… 

“You’re not trying to tease me, are ya, Buck?”

Pausing with his lips just around the head of his cock, Bucky peers up at him. Mouth full, he tries to give Steve a playful smile. Manages to get out a muffled, “M’sorry,” and starts to suck more of him in.

Only Steve knots his fingers into his hair to keep him still. Pulls him hard by the roots. Enough that he gets a small gasp and a quiet moan. 

“Too much?” He checks.

“Mm-mm.” Bucky gives a little shake of his head, still around Steve’s cock. 

“Kay. Bucky, I know I’m paying, but I still… I want you to tell me if I do something you don’t like. You know the traffic light code?” Bucky nods. 

“Red for stop? Yellow for slow down? Green to go?” Bucky rolls his eyes, smirking and even somehow huffs. Steve can’t really fault him. He _did_ just tell him he knew it. But he doesn’t want to take any chances. “Okay, okay. I need you to tell me if you don’t like something. And while I fuck that pretty face of yours,” Steve makes his voice stern and Bucky moans at that, eyes rolling back and closing, “You can pinch my thigh. Okay?” When Bucky nods, Steve chuckles. “What? I can’t hear you.”

Bucky whines, but tries for a very stuffed and gurgled, “Yessh, shher.”

“Aw, such a good boy you are.” Steve pets his face once before making the grip in his hair tighter and pushing his face down into his lap.

He’s sure to move him slow at first. Doesn’t want to push too fast. Steve’s not going to be able to wait much longer before he’s thrusting quick and hard though. Bucky’s mouth is fucking paradise. Tight and moist and hot and every time Steve’s hand tightens in his hair Bucky groans and wiggles. When he gets him down enough to just brush the back of Bucky’s throat, Steve loses it just thrusts. Deep, hard, damn near feral. 

There’s drool leaking down Bucky’s chin, coating Steve’s dick and covering his balls. Heat ripples through him and he releases his hold on Bucky’s head, letting him take control for a while. That actually makes Bucky whine a bit. Steve chuckles, but it’s cut off by a groan when Bucky latches onto his hips and rams Steve’s dick into the back of his throat. 

“Oh _fuck_ …” Steve purrs. “Bucky… _shit_ … you’re so fucking perfect. Gonna earn your reward real good.”

Bucky starts squirming and it takes a moment for him to realize--too many sensations running through Steve, heat coiled in his belly, blood pounding in his ears, dick tightening more and more--that Bucky’s hand is stroking over his own cock. 

Steve puts his foot down down on him, pressing hard enough that it probably cause a bit of pain. Bucky squeaks, even shakes a little. His eyes pop open like he hadn’t even realized they were closed. Steve shakes his head.

“Did I say you could touch yourself?”

The whine that comes out of him is so pathetic, so needy and endearing that Steve’s heart nearly rips in half. He takes his foot away and guides Bucky off his dick.

He wipes his mouth and chin with the back of his hand. Looks up and pants a bit as he catches his breath. It’s not till Steve tries to speak calmly that it registers how out of breath, how dizzy he is. 

“You… do you need it, Bucky? Need to… be touched?”  
“I… whatever you want, Steve.”  
“What do _you_ want, Bucky?”  
He chuckles. “I still don’t think you get how this works.”  
“No I get it. I’m paying for you. That makes you mine until times up, right?”  
“Well… yeah…”  
“Say it.”  
“I’m yours, Steve. Sir.”

That sounds so sweet. A symphony of words strung together in a perfect lie. Paid for in the amount of two hundred dollars for two hours of his life.

“Then tell me what you want.”  
“But, I…” The last of his resolve falls away with a whimper when Steve narrows his eyes at him. “Fuck me, Steve? Please? Please, _please_ fuck me. Don’t touch me unless you think I deserve it.”  
“Get on the bed.”

Bucky scrambles to do just that. Hurries to his feet and climbs up on the bed. Legs dangling off and ass up in anticipation.

“Left pocket’a my jeans,” He says. “Got lube and condoms. Few sizes, too. Gotta be one in there that fits ya.” He teases.  
Steve asks, “What if I don’t wanna use lube?”

Bucky’s head, which had been pillowed on his folded arms, lifts up. Hesitant and worried. Steve can see the apprehension run down his spine as Steve runs his fingers down it at the same time. Pauses just at the part of Bucky’s ass. 

“Um… oh… yeah… y’know…” Bucky sucks in a hard breath. “Whatever you want.” He shrugs. Gives off a pretty convincing air of indifference. “You’re paying.”

Steve slaps his hand down on Bucky’s left cheek. Hard. No warning at all. Grabs it on impact and Bucky doesn’t seem to know what to do after his initial yelp. He jerks up, gasp, whimpers and glances over his shoulder. Both turned on and confused at the same time. Mouth agape and eyes glossy, they wander from side to side.

“What did I tell you?” Steve asks.  
“W-what?”  
“About telling me what you want and didn’t want?” He reminds him. “I’m not going to hurt you, Bucky. Wouldn’t not use any lube. Told you. You shouldn’t be letting people do thing to hurt you like that.”  
“Kay…” He whispers. Wipes at his eyes like he might cry. “M’sorry, Steve.”  
Steve leans forward. Kisses the spot he’s struck. “Don’t do it again, baby.”

He feels Bucky’s eyes on him as he reaches down for his pants. Tries to pretend he’s not being watched by the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. Steve’s never been the most comfortable being stared at, especially while naked. Doesn’t help that Bucky’s probably got miles of experience compared to him, even though he’s eight years older. 

When he does happen to catch a glimpse of him, he finds Bucky staring at him with the oddests of looks. Almost doe-eyed, adoring even. 

“What?” Steve whispers.  
He smirks. “Nothin’. You gonna keep me waitin’ all night over here?”  
“Maybe.” Steve mumbles back. “Maybe I won’t fuck you at all. Maybe I’ll just fuck your mouth raw and not let you get off. How’s that sound?”

Bucky whines. Pushes his bottom lip out in a weepy pout and shakes his head. 

“Oh no, Steve. Please? Pretty please?”

Steve chuckles when Bucky wiggles his ass and gives him a needy whimper. He’s sure glad this is a one time deal. Knows damn well a few more of those looks and this kid would have him wrapped around his finger.

He takes a minute to lube up his hand, squeezing a bit--finding it berry scented and holding the question about that back. Steve easily works the tip of his index finger into Bucky’s asshole. He hisses when Steve first pushes in, eases into the feeling immediately. 

It takes very little to get his finger all the way in and Bucky moans the whole time. He shudders and backs into Steve’s hand when he adds a second finger. Steve pushes a little harder now, pulls a few whimpers from Bucky as he buries his face deep into the mattress. He gets a third one in. Makes Bucky’s breath catch on that one. Steve crooks his fingers, searching. Not yet. He keeps going. Twists his hand and pushes a little deeper. 

And then Bucky cries out. Shudders around his fingers and starts yelling out words most definitely not in English. 

Ah-huh. There it is. Steve does it again. And again. Until Bucky is practically sobbing his name and begging into the night. 

“святое дерьмо!” He screams. “боже мой. пожалуйста! Please! Oh, _fuck_ , Steve… Holy shit. M’gonna… fuck, I’m gonna come…”  
“No you’re not.” Steve growls and pulls his hand out. “Not yet.”  
“Oh… Steve… please…”  
“Roll over.” He orders as he rips the condom open and hurries to get it on. “On your back.”

Bucky’s doing it before he’s even finished voicing the command. He’s whimpering little pleads. Saying _please please please_ over and over again. 

“Sh.” Steve comforts. “It’s okay, baby. I’ll take care of you.”

He takes just a moment to ease into position. Head pushing in and causing a broken little gasp from Bucky. 

“Am I hurting you?” Steve asks.  
“No, no.” Bucky urges, hands fumbling about as they try to find something to grab onto. “Please… Steve… just…”

Steve loses every last ounce of control. Slams forward. Pulls a cry from Bucky. He grabs one leg, then the other. Lifts them both and tosses his ankles over his shoulders. Plunges so deep inside of him, he can see, feel, hear, the spot he’s touching. Knows he’s hitting that sweet spot buried all the way in there. 

“Fuck!” Bucky screams. “Steve! Ohgodohgod… shit! Please!”

He’s shuddering under him. Holding on to whatever he has left of him. Steve is bent over him, practically bending Bucky in half, and pounding into that spot over and over. Bucky’s begging mutely, breaths coming out in tiny whimpers and body tightening around him. 

Steve holds him down. Grabs hold of his cock and pulls him in for a sloppy, feral kiss. He bites down on his lip and sucks on his neck and feels himself coming apart. The world flashes white. Lighting strikes his insides, firing off in his dick as wave after wave of pure ecstasy washes over him. 

“You wanna come, Bucky? You think you deserve it?”  
“Oh please… Steve… sir… please… can I come?”  
“You’re such a good boy, Bucky.” Bucky’s eyes roll back. He bites down on his lip. “So good. Go ahead. You can come.”

Bucky tenses. He arches under him, chokes on a jagged moan and grabs onto Steve’s arms as streams of sticky, white semen cover Steve’s hand. Steve’s trembling as he tries not to collapse on top of the kid. Both of them are breathing hard and heavy, and Bucky picks his head up to kiss him quickly. Drops his head back into the pillows and chuckles. 

“You okay, Steve?” He asks after a few minutes.

He nods. Hears the change in Bucky’s voice. Act over. Steve glances at the clock. It’s a quarter past twelve. Time’s up in less than twenty minutes. He eases out of Bucky, plops down next to him. Face first in the pillows Bucky’s now perfectly comfortable against. 

“You ain’t gonna freak out on me now, are ya?” Bucky asks, giving Steve’s side a teasing nudge. “Get all Christian and start praying for forgiveness?”  
Steve picks his head up to look at him. “Has that happened?”  
“Once or twice, yeah.”

Steve reaches over to brush the hair, damp with sweat, away from Bucky’s face. Bucky grins, eyes closing softly.

“No.” Steve whispers. “I’m not gonna do that.”

No. He can’t. There’s no regret in him. Not yet anyway. Perhaps after he sleeps and wakes. When everything sets in. The dust settles and clears in his mind and body. Reality of the situation of paying for sex, sleeping with a twenty-year-old sex worker and using him to carry out some of his lighter, dark fantasies. 

When Steve glances back at Bucky, his eyes are closed, cheek nuzzled into the cotton pillowcase. Sweat’s dried to his face and hair. His lips are swollen and there’re even a few tears stained at the corners of his eyes. He looks wrecked, yet incredibly peaceful. 

“You awake?” Steve wonders.  
His mouth quirks up in a grin. “No.”  
He chuckles. “Do you need anything from me?” Steve asks. “You want me to… you need water? Food? You wanna be… held or something? Can I see if I hurt you anywhere?”

Bucky’s eyes pop open. He looks at him as though Steve’s the strangest person he’s ever met. 

“No. To all that. I mean, unless there’s something _you_ want.” For a moment, something in Bucky slips. He’s denying himself something. Some unspoken rule he’s trying not to break. “I mean, I’m still yours a little longer.”  
“Then you mind if I shower?”  
“Mm-mm.” Bucky stretches and leans his head back. Checks the time, Steve thinks. Sure enough, when he looks back his eyebrows go up. “Don’t have that much time though. Gotta be outta the room otherwise Ruth’ll be chargin’ you for another hour.”  
“Yeah.” Steve’s not about to shell out any more money he never intended on spending tonight. “I’ll be quick.”

He rolls off the bed. Ambles towards the bathroom on weak and shaky legs. Hasn’t had such amazing sex in a long time. A long, long time. Steve stops when he hears Bucky clear his throat.

“Steve?”

He glances over his shoulder. Sees Bucky giving him that wicked, submissive look. Eye big, lips pushed out. Feels it go right through his entire body again. 

“Y-yeah?”  
“Was I really a good boy for ya?”

Steve is close enough to the bathroom that he’s able to grab onto the doorframe. Which is good too since he might end up on the floor without it. 

“Yeah, Buck. You were a real good boy for me.”

Bucky tucks a smile under his teeth and sinks back into the pillows, leaving it up to Steve to get into the shower on his own. 

He doesn’t take too long in there. Almost wishes he could stay in there forever though. Where hot water trickles over his body, leaving skin pink and letting sensations of tonight rest upon him for all time. This isn’t what Steve’s come back to Brooklyn for. He’s here to start a real life. Not to get mixed up in illegal, solicited sex. Even if it _was_ mindblowing. And it’s _wrong_. So, so wrong. He doesn’t _feel_ wrong about it. There’s still no guilt but…

Bucky’s still only twenty. Like the kid’s pointed out, Steve’s not all _that_ much older than him. No reason to go running off to the local gossip papers for a juicy story. But he’s a sex worker. 

Steve shakes his head. Shuts the water off and steps out of the shower. He’s not sure why he’s even thinking about this. It’s not like he’s ever gonna see him again. 

Once he’s dried off, he wraps the towel around him--for self-conscience reasons, if nothing else. Bucky’s seen him naked. He’s been _inside_ Bucky for God’s sake, he still can’t bring himself to walk back out there naked. Not that it matters. When he steps out, he’s greeted by an empty room.

“Bucky?”

There’s no answer. Steve’s not really sure what he expected. He can plainly see no one’s there. Bucky’s clothes are gone and the room smells of a freshly smoked cigarette. Clock tells Steve he’s got approximately five minutes to vacate the room. Panic suddenly grabs Steve by the throat. Slaps him around when he sees his wallet and phone tossed on the bed. That’s most definitely not where he left them.

“Shit. Oh _fuck_ me.”

There was a decent amount of cash still in his wallet, too. He’s still swearing to himself, cursing the day he was born for being so fucking stupid as he swipes the thing up in his hand. He opens it up and checks inside. Is surprised to see not only all his money, but a yellow piece of paper as well. He plucks it out and unfolds it. Feels about two inches tall as he reads it.

_You dick. You thought I stole your shit, didn’t you?_  
_Told you. Get that image outta your head!_  
_Sorry to run out on you. Got a customer._  
_Number’s in your phone._  
_Gimme a call if you wanna hook up next time you’re in town._  
_Won’t even charge you full price._  
_Full evening’s $500… maybe $300 for you._  
_Just gimme a week’s notice._  
_-Bucky_

Jealousy comes on strong and hard and very much out of nowhere. Thinking of Bucky with someone else after he’s been with him does something strange to his chest, to his belly. The emotion is completely absurd. Steve shakes it away. Does a pretty good job of it too when he’s a minute late checking out of the room and has to persuade Ruth not to make him pay another hour for the room. He’s able to do it, too. Or it might be because of Bucky. 

“Came down smiling like a fool,” She says. “Must’a done something nice for the kid.” She has him signs for his receipt. “And you still got yourself that face’a yours. Trustin’. Guess you can’t be all that bad.”  
“Um, thanks.” Steve replies. Smile of his own hidden as he buries his chin. “I think.”

The fact that Bucky left the room smiling _does_ make Steve feel good, even if he left to go off to another customer. But it simply reminds Steve that everything that went on tonight was an act. He paid for it all. The compliments, the begging, the whimpers, the submission. All of it. Tonight was his last hurrah. Throwing caution to the wind. Bucky was his for two hours because he paid him two hundred dollars to be his. That’s it. No more, no less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so I wasn’t going to start posting this for a while, but for reasons I’m posting the first chapter now. It is still a work in progress, but definitely not as long as my other fics. 
> 
>  
> 
> Oh and this fic was totally inspired by this song [Aint No Rest For the Wicked](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HKtsdZs9LJo).
> 
> Feel free to check me out on tumblr at [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> And for anyone following my fic [Of Broken Dreams and Mended Hearts](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2421641/chapters/5358368). You'll know I'm a fan of visuals
> 
> So from the awesome blog [stevebuckypornlookalikes](http://stevebuckypornlookalikes.tumbr.com). have some nsfw gifs that fit well with this chapter
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading. Hope you'll stick around for updates to see what hijinx these boys get into. ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the tags especially since this one includes Bucky as a sex worker and I know that can make people uncomfortable, but I do try to handle that as non-offensively as possible, so if that’s going to bother or trigger anyone please read at your own risk.

Steve’s right about the guilt. It shows up the minute he opens his eyes. When his phone is going off and there’s a lingering headache. Just a pinprick of pain that serves him right for staying out so late the night before he’s decided to make life changing choices. Serves him right for making stupid choices and paying a twenty-year-old for sex.

He wants to ignore it. Knows he should. He’s done nothing wrong, other than utterly ignore the law. Breaking it completely. Though, to be honest, he’s never agreed with that law anyway. Thought it was stupid. Prostitutes-- _sex workers_ , Steve reminds himself, remembers that it was insulting to Bucky when he called him a prostitute--would be safer if their work was made legal. Maybe, eventually, people would start taking it seriously, the way Steve should have last night, instead of making the rude assumptions he did. Oldest profession in the world anyway.

That doesn’t ease the guilt. Not when he gobbles down a fast breakfast of burnt toast and overcooked eggs. Not on the anxious drive to his first day of school in ten years. Not when the panic attack starts.

He has to stop and sit down on the bench on some random sidewalk. He’s not even sure where he is right now. Which path he’s taken or what class he’s even supposed to be headed for. It’s hot. Too hot. All eyes are on him, he’s sure of it. Just like they’ll be when he gets into those classrooms. Beads of sweat form on the back of his neck as his lungs get tighter and tighter. He reaches into pocket and pulls out his inhaler. He’s not sure if this’ll turn into an asthma attack but he’s not taking any chances.

Once the fire in his lungs starts to simmer down, Steve yanks out his phone. He shoots a frazzled text to Sam.

**Tell me again Sam. Please?**

As though Sam’s sitting by his phone, waiting for Steve’s anxiety to rise up like this, his answer comes within minutes.

**Sam: You’re fine Steve. You’re not even gonna be the oldest one there.**

Steve’s hands are trembling, but the quivers are getting less and less as he reads the text over more than once.

**Steve: And you still forgive me? You’re really not mad?**

**Sam: Course not Steve Never was mad. Ur gonna do great.**

The panic’s subsided now. Knowing that Sam’s not mad at him. That Sam thinks he’s going to be okay. Sam’s been his connection to his life here. Sometimes Steve thinks he’s still in love with him. It wouldn’t be all that farfetched. Love that never died for the friend that’s always been there for him. For the one he let get away.

After sucking in one more deep breath, Steve’s able to gather his bearings and push off the bench. Calmer now, he remembers that he’s going to be late for his first class--English--if he doesn’t get a move on. Halfway there, he gets two more texts. One from Tony that reads _Good luck, nerd_ and one from Betty that tells him she’s thinking about Steve.

Just like Sam promised, Steve’s not the oldest in his first class. In fact, he’s not the oldest in his second class either. No one pays any attention to him. Not even when he’s up at the front of the class having to get papers signed by his professors since school’s already been in session for a week.

It’s a lot easier to push last night’s activities from his mind as he sits in his classes. Classes. Steve still can’t really believe that he’s here. Doing this. Trying to pick up his broken pieces of a life and trying to start a new one. Then again, it’s still hard to believe that last night he had sex, though he does have the marks to prove it. Right at the base of his neck. Where Bucky’s mouth sucked and kissed and left a little piece of him behind.

Every now and then Steve touches the spot. Presses down to feel the sensation shoot through his body. A reminder. No, last night was not a dream. He didn’t make Bucky up. He was real.

He’s able to make a stop at the student center between his second and third class. Grabs something to eat--some pretty decent sushi. Steve takes his time there. Some of the seats are big and plush, happy to have the company and soaked in sunshine when the luscious rays stream in through the wall length windows. He watches people bustling about. Students getting to know each other, friends excited to see each other. There’re those playing pool and some using the air hockey tables, and Steve takes to sketching them. It’s easy, familiar. Relaxing even. There’s a sense of comfort, of something he’s always done in drawing, even in this completely new place.

By the time he’s at his third class, Biology and last for the day, he’s feeling kind of foolish for being so damn nervous in the first place. It’s not unusual. Steve has a tendency to get himself worked up and riddled with anxiety when he’s not sure about something. He’s even starting to think he can do this. This class, while long at three hours of lecture, actually saves him a lot of time. Taking a double on Mondays frees up more time for him to work in the Art Department during the week.

“Excuse me?” He says as he approaches the professor. “Um, I’m just coming into this class.” Steve pulls out the paper he needs signed. “I, can you sign…”

“Course…” She holds her hand out for the paper. Signs it and slides it back. “Which one are you?”

“What?”

She’s looking over a different set of papers. “I think I’ve got two new students added to my roster today…”

“Oh. I’m Steve. Rogers. Steve Rogers.”

“Kay, you’re Steve, so then…”

An arm reaches around Steve. Coming close enough to invading personal space that Steve needs to inch to the side so as not to get touched.

“Yeah, I’m James. James Barnes. Gotta have that signed.” He mutters. “Sorry.”

Good feelings gone. Confidence shattered. Nausea creeping in and leaving Steve wobbly on his own two feet.

Steve feels all the blood drain from his face. There’s no need to glance over, but he does anyway. Sees the very last person he ever expected to see again. He needs to put his hands down on the desk to keep from falling over.

Bucky’s doing something on his phone, texting from what Steve can tell. That sinfully, wicked tongue of his running absently across his lips.

“Alright well, that gives us an even amount again.” The professor points out. “So you two can be lab partners since everyone’s paired up.”

“Cool.”

Bucky’s chewing gum. Not keeping his mouth completely closed while doing so and he takes a quick glimpse up at Steve to give him an uninterested smirk. Point three seconds later his eyes bulge out of his head. He slowly turns his gaze back up to Steve. Lets his mouth drop open a little.

“Um… well.” He fixes a cool, easy grin on his lip and flicks his eyebrows up. “How’s it going? You _new_ in town?”

Steve’s belly clenches. Hard and painful. He can see the accusations in Bucky’s eyes, even if there’s amusement in the curl of his lips. He’d told him he was only in town for a few days. Never thought he’d even see this kid again. And here he is. Caught red handed in a lie about something stupid and ridiculous. See, _this_ is why Steve can’t lie. Even when it comes out sounding fine.

“I… yeah.” Right. Real smooth. “Just moved back.”

“That right? Where from? Wouldn’t be Cali or nothin' would it?”

“Oh man,” Steve sighs. Scratches the back of his head as Bucky cracks his gum at him. “I, look, I…”

Bucky chuckles. Rolls his eyes and heads towards the last lab table in the left row. The only two seats left in the entire room.

“Um,” Steve looks back at the professor now sifting through some papers at the desk, “Is this… there was only one room listed?”

She glances up at him. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, um, are lectures and labs both in here?”

“Oh right. Yes, they are. They’re doing some work in the lecture hall so we’ll be holding both classes in here.” She pulls out two sheets and hands them both to him. “Syllabuses. Would you take one to the other one?”

Steve nods. Takes the paper and heads towards Bucky who’s hunched over the lab table, still using his phone. Stopping just at the end of the table, Steve slides the paper across it.

“That’s, uh, yours.” He says.

“Cool.” Bucky takes it and stuffs it in a spiral notebook without even glancing at it. “Thanks, dude.”

Since he’s not paying any attention to him--really it’s like Bucky doesn’t even know he’s there or cares that just last night Steve paid him for sex, for somewhat kinky sex at that--Steve lowers himself onto the wooden stool next to him.

He sits stiff and rigid and remains that way the entire class. Heart pounding and throat tight, Steve keeps stealing glimpses at the boy next to him; seated entirely too comfortably to be feeling any sort of awkwardness. Bucky’s taking notes in that spiral notebook. Seems to be the only thing other than a pen he has with him. He’s not carrying a bookbag. Unlike Steve, who copies near word for word everything that’s up on the Smartboard, Bucky’s page only has a few things written down on it. Even doodles in the margins like he’s not paying attention. His tongue continuously pushes at the inside of his cheek, and knowing how hot and moist and _fantastic_ that mouth feels only makes it harder to be here. Shoots an almost painful jolt through Steve’s body.

The stool’s uncomfortable and hard under Steve’s backside. He’s sure everyone in this room knows. The marks on his neck, not all that well hidden by the collar of his t-shirt, are like damn headlights calling out to them. Flashing in the darkness of night like a sign that reads _Steve Rogers paid to fuck the kid sitting next to him last night._ Any time Bucky moves his face gets warm. Sits up, leans forward, clears his throat, it doesn’t matter what he does.

After ninety minutes of sitting there, of trying to listen to characteristics of living organisms while pretending he’s not sitting next to the sex worker from last night, he’s really starting to feel the nerves pile on. They wriggle through him, making limbs start to shake and breaths back up.

What is he going to do? How can he possibly take an entire semester of this? Mondays and Wednesdays? Every week? Having to pretend like Bucky’s just some kid in this class and _not_ the best sex he’s maybe ever had and just happens to be a sex worker? Oh sure, no problem.

“Alright, how about we take a fifteen minute break?” Professor Grey announces just when Steve doesn’t think he can take it any longer. When the room feels as though it’s about to chew him up and spit him out. “Stretch your legs, take a breather and then come back.”

Steve is on his feet before she’s even finished telling them they can take their break. He doesn’t want to dash out of there though. Doesn’t want to make Bucky think he’s running from him, even if that’s pretty much what he’s doing. So he stretches his arms up above his head. It feels good, feeling his spine pull up like that, and waits for a few people to exit the room before doing the same. He takes one last peek at Bucky as he leaves. Bucky doesn’t look at him.

The vending machine so kindly serves him a tepid bottle of water, which Steve drinks in almost two large gulps. He stands in front of the machine for a few minutes, the soft glow of it almost harsh in his present panic.

“Get a grip, Steve.” He mutters to himself. “This is ridiculous.”

It is. Completely and utterly. Steve’s had one-night stands before. Ran into the other person at a later date. There isn’t that much of a difference here. So there was an exchange of money last night. And maybe last night was incredible. But it was an act. All of it. An act he paid for.

Bucky clearly isn’t uncomfortable. Steve doesn’t need to be either. Okay. He can do this. And it’ll be fine. Just a few months of this. Two days a week for a few hours. A little interaction with the best fuck he’s ever had that cost him two hundred dollars? Yeah. No sweat.

Steve huffs, kills off the rest of the water, and heads back to the classroom. In the hall he has a clear, straight view through the glass doors that lead outside. Which, of course, gives Steve the perfect chance to see that Bucky’s out there.

He’s smoking a cigarette. Sharing it with the beautiful redhead he was dancing with at the bar last night. He’s got his arms wrapped around her and they’re both laughing. His mouth is pressed up against the side of her neck. He’s not kissing her though. He’s just smiling. Steve doesn’t mean to stop and stare. He does though. Can’t help it.

Now that there’s space between them, walls and barriers, Steve’s nerves are calmer. His eyes are once again drawn to the delicious body outside. That face, those luscious lips, those wide, bright eyes. Which sweep up and happen to glance in his direction. Steve ducks back into the classroom before they catch eyes.

He’s only at the desk alone for a minute or so before Bucky strolls in again. There’s an arrogant pull on his lips, in his steps, and he brushes up so close to Steve when he walks behind him that he can feel the heat coming off his body. He licks his lips as he flips back to the same page he’s been taking note on. Steve is on his fourth page.

Just as Professor Grey starts speaking again, Steve hears Bucky murmur softly, “Just can’t help it, can you?”

Steve sighs and doesn't respond. That gets a chuckle out of Bucky and he leans forward, chin in his palm.

“S’alright.” He snickers. “I know you think I’m sexy.”

Well if this isn’t making the situation easier. Steve purses his lips and tries to just go on ignoring Bucky. Keeps taking notes, word for word, jotting every single thing he catches Professor Grey say down on paper.

“What’s the matter, Stevie?” Bucky drawls. “Am I not being a good boy now?”

Steve sucks in a deep breath. Flared nostrils. Hot. Heavy.

“Cut it out, Bucky.” He growls through clenched teeth.

“Oh, yes, _sir_.”

Scrubbing hands over his face, a rough sigh passes over Steve’s lips. He shifts a bit on the stool. Feels it laughing at him as he redirects the heat from his groin to other parts of his body.

“ _Bucky_.”

“Okay, okay,” He laughs. “M’sorry, Steve.”

He stops then. Doesn’t make a comment the rest of the class. Steve steals glances the whole time. It’s like he can’t help himself. Bucky stays leaned over the desk, and Steve can’t help but wonder if it’s more comfortable for him that way. But with his body like that, long, stretched out… Steve needs to remind himself over and over to stay focused.

It’s even worse when Bucky nibbles on the end of his pen. That’s not done on purpose, at least, Steve doesn’t think so. Bucky’s just absently doing something out of habit. Regardless, it makes Steve’s dick jump a little. He briefly wonders if maybe he’ll be able to switch this class with another. Steve then remembers that the semester’s already a week in and it was hell just getting this schedule hammered in. There’s no way he can get it changed now, not without just dropping the class and having nothing to fill it with.

The rest of the class is something of a blur. Steve’s notebook is somehow still filled with notes; notes he really has no recollection taking. Professor Grey winds down the lecture with a reminder that starting next week all lectures will begin with a quiz and that Wednesday’s lab will be on cell diffusion. 

This time, Bucky rises to his feet first and leans back. The bottom of his shirt--dark purple, sneakily transparent in just the right light and v-necked--lifts up _just_ enough to pull over the brim of his pants. Steve’s eyes linger there and for one insane moment he’d love to just grab those hips and press his lips right against that spot. Suck a mark onto Bucky’s skin just like the one on his.

He pulls his gaze away just in time; right before Bucky scoops up his notebook and heads out. He might mumble some sort of goodbye to Steve, maybe a _see ya round_ but Steve hardly catches it. Instead, he gathers his things and stuffs them into his bag before following after him.

“Wait a second!” he calls, swinging those glass doors open hard enough that one almost crashes against the wall. “Buc… ky...”

Oh. He’s not quite sure if he should be calling him that. He did introduce himself as James back there. Said only his friends and favorite clients call him Bucky. Steve’s doesn’t really fit in either of those categories.

But Bucky does slow to a halt and turns to look at him. Eyebrows flicked up. There’s a curious look on his face. Genuine. He’s not sure why Steve’s stopped him. Down at the other end of the sidewalk is Bucky’s redheaded friend. Steve figures he better make this quick.

“What’s up?”

“Um,” Steve’s not really sure what he wants. Or maybe that’s not entirely true. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?”

He looks like he might laugh. Probably thinks Steve’s apologizing for all of last night. Which, okay, Steve might feel _weird_ about paying for sex, _guilty_ that it was with a twenty-year-old, but he doesn’t feel the need to apologize for the sex itself though.

“For lying to you.” He clarifies. “About… living here.” Steve rattles his head. “I mean, it’s just, I’ve really never done anything like that.”

He licks his lips. “You mean lie or pay for sex?”

Steve’s eyes go wide. A few people walking by have definitely heard Bucky’s statement. Without context they won’t know what he’s really talking about, but still.

“Jesus.” Steve mumbles.

“Nah, it’s just me. Bucky.” He snickers when Steve glares at him. “Sorry. Hey look, don’t sweat it, Steve. S’not like no ones never lied to me before.”

The look on Bucky’s face, it’s nonchalant, calm, expectant even. Like being lied to is just part of his daily life. His eyes though, they give away more than he realizes.

“Well that’s not any better.”

Bucky laughs again. “Steve, really, it’s okay. I get it. S’no big deal. You don’t gotta explain nothing. You paid for what you wanted. I got what I needed.” His smirk turns mischievous, moist, succulent tongue running perfectly along his top lip. “In fact, if you think about it, you’re the one paying for this little situation we’re in.”

“Wait… are you saying…”

“Yeah, that’s right. Your money’s what I needed to take this course.” Bucky runs fingers through his hair. Flashes that cocky grin again. “So, y’know, thanks.”

“Um, you’re welcome?”

Bucky laughs and steps closer. Puts that smooth hand of his on Steve’s arm and wraps around it softly. He gives him a squeeze.

“We’re okay, Steve. Is that what you’re looking for?”

Steve’s not sure what he’s looking for. Hearing Bucky say that is nice, but he wants to give Bucky more. Doesn’t know what, doesn’t know why.

“Uh, okay.”

“Right. So, can I go now?” He asks, adding a point with his thumb over his shoulder.

“Oh yeah. I mean, sure.” Steve shakes his head. Was he really waiting just for him? “Of course you can.”

He grins. Adds one last flick of his eyebrows before saying, “Alright then. See you Wednesday.”

Bucky takes off then. Meets up with the redhead who glances over her shoulder when Bucky tosses his arm over her it. She gives Steve something of a hard glare and when Bucky notices, he laughs and whispers something in her ear. She shrugs at whatever he says and the two round the corner, disappearing together and Steve feels an incredibly insane sense of loneliness fall upon him.

It’s ridiculous. Completely out of the blue, but the very second Bucky is gone Steve feels the urge to have him around again. It makes no sense. He doesn’t even know him. He’s just someone he slept with. Paid to sleep with at that. Steve needs to get this out of his head. Knock it to the ground and stomp it out with his foot.

Of course, Bucky is the only thing he can think about as he heads to his car. Bucky’s body and his voice, the sweet, cute way he begs, and Bucky on his knees, peering up at Steve with those big wide eyes. 

He’s all he can think about on his way home. His mouth all over Steve’s body. Lips around around his cock, sucking Steve to the back of his throat and listening so wonderfully.

So by the time Steve’s walking towards his building, his head is in a whirl. Just once. That was the deal he’d made with himself. If he had any idea that he’d ever see him again… _fuck_ , Steve’s not sure if he’d change anything about last night. There’s no way he’s going to do it again though. Just none. He’ll just have to deal with temptation. A lot of temptation. So much temptation that…

Steve freezes as he turns the corner to his hall. There’s someone standing in front of his door. He lets out an uneasy chuckle when he realizes it’s just Sam.

“Sam?”

Sam looks up and smiles. Holds out a six pack. “Hey, college man!”

“Oh geez.” Steve rolls his eyes and trips over a laugh. “Are you serious?”

“Course I am!” He chuckles. “You didn’t think I’d let you get home and be by yourself after your first day? Get over here!”

Thank everything holy for Sam Wilson. Steve goes on over and takes the bottle of beer from his outstretched hand.

“So, how was it?”

“Not bad.” Steve admits.

“Not the crisis you thought it’d be?” He asks with an added pat to Steve’s back.

A chuckle catches his Steve’s throat as he opens his door. It may have broken off into a laugh if he wasn’t shocked into silence by all the people in his living room shouting _surprise!_ at him.

Steve throws a helpless look at Sam. Who actually offers _no_ help with the cheesy grin he gives to him.

“What the hell is this?” Steve asks amid laughter and happy greetings.

“Welcome home party, buddy.” Sam answers, swinging an arm around him. “Told you everyone missed you. Tony’s idea.”

“Whoa now!” The culprit at hand. Tony’s coming forward, drink in hand, sporting a formal suit--plaid, too--while everyone else is just dressed casually. “Don’t go spreading these rumors about me. All I said was that maybe we should get together to welcome this nerd home or something. I didn’t say anything about getting sentimental or nothing.”

He’s about to put his arms around Steve, to pull him in for a hug when he stops short. His eyes fall lower than Steve’s face and then get wide. Tony whips his gaze back up at Steve. Big, teasing grin on his mouth.

“And look who comes home with a hickey on his neck!” He announces quite loudly.

“Nice, Tony.” Steve shakes his head. “Good to see you, too.”

“No fooling! You, too! But come on!” He nudges his fist into Steve’s shoulder. “Spill it! Who’d you hook up with?”

“I’m going to get a drink now, Tony.”

“Ah come on!” He exclaims as Steve heads further into his place. “Don’t spare us all the sexy details!”

Steve laughs as he busies himself with the people there. Says hello to Pepper. _Seriously, Pepper, how do you do it?_ He asks of her in regards to dating Tony on and off since they were kids. And Bruce and Betty have come together since apparently they’ve rekindled their high school relationship after all these years. Maria, Sam’s girlfriend of two years--who Steve’s gotten to meet several times over that period--grins at him as he comes over. Offers him popcorn by means of tossing a few kernels at his face. Rhodey’s on leave for the next few weeks and is able to give Steve that hug Tony didn’t get to give him. Even Carol, who Steve hasn’t seen in _years_ , has come.

The evening turns out to be a lot of fun. Good time with old friends. Drinks, food--they order several large pizzas, none of which last for leftovers--loud, rambunctious laughter. Lots of jokes at each others’ expense. Everyone is interested in what Steve did out in California. _Was is really hot in the winter? Did you meet a lot of famous people? Did you have a lot of sex?_ (Tony, of course). _You think you’ll miss it?_ Another reminder that no one is angry with Steve, that they really are glad to have him back.

No one stays late and by nine o’clock, Steve’s alone again. And he _feels_ alone. Despite the good time that’s been had, spent in good company with laughs and smiles, Steve can’t shake the feeling. His place feels empty. Walls unfamiliar and unwelcoming as they stare at him blankly. Eggshell white, Steve’s not even put any paintings up or anything to give the place a homey touch.

Maybe he’ll do that. This weekend. It’ll give him something to do. Something to look forward to. A way to keep his thoughts from straying to Bucky since apparently he’s _all_ they seem capable of going back to. Doesn’t help that _everyone_ was interested in the hickey Steve’s sporting. Sam kept asking if he hooked up with someone after he left. Betty called him Brooklyn’s “newest-veteran” heartbreaker. Rhodey laughed and said that he was back in town for less than a month and already making a new name for himself. Tony insisted for details.

Now it’s way after midnight and Steve’s just staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom. Thinking about Bucky. Is he out? Home? Is he safe? With friends? A client? Is he having sex? Right now? With someone who’s treating him well? Is it rough? Because it’s not with Steve. If Bucky’s having sex it’s not with Steve and that does strange, uncalled for things to Steve’s belly.

Ties knots of jealously where they don’t belong.

Is Bucky moaning? Right now. His dick straining, leaking. Aching for release. Bucky holding back because he’s a good boy and likes to be a good boy. Steve’ll hold him up by his neck maybe. Pin him up against the wall. Squeeze just enough so that breathing’s not impossible, but hard. Bucky trusting that he won’t hurt him, handing so much of his body over to him as Steve fucks him with his mouth, listening to those precious little pleads. All wanton and needy. Looking too pretty and sweet not to be told so. His body trembling as he gets so close and isn’t allowed since Steve backs off and pulls whimpers from his good boy’s throat. Doesn’t let Bucky come until he’s inside of him. Pounding long and hard, sucking kisses from his mouth and making sure he knows he’s _his_ as he finally shoots off, shouts of _thank you, sirs_ filling the night.

A grunt falls from his mouth as Steve’s fists pulls over his cock hard and fast, vigorously pulling a sudden orgasm from him like a summer’s cloudburst. He’s gasping over Bucky’s name as it hits and he’s not sure _what_ that means. Sweat dots his brow as Steve’s heart pounds hard against his ribs. There’s no time to think about this, to dwell on how Bucky’s somehow weaseled his way into his every waking moment without even trying, probably not even on purpose. He cleans up, rolls over, and finally falls asleep.

***

The first few weeks aren’t so bad. They give Steve a sense of routine and pattern. It’s a chance to get settled in. To get used to what he’s here to do.

Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays are dedicated solely to school. Steve’s there all day. Gets in at eight in the morning and gets home, usually, a little after four. He spends any free time between classes at the student center. Not really interacting with anyone. More people watching. Or Bucky watching. Because he’s _always_ there, too. Surrounded by people. He seems to be friends with everyone. Even people who clearly don’t know him walk away with a new best friend. He chats and gets lost in conversation over the pool table usually. Steve maintains his distance while he tries to get work done. Sits in the upper level, away from all the hustle and bustle. And temptation.

Thursdays are split between one class and working with the Art Department the rest of the day. His one class--Algebra--is quick and painless. Most of the day is spent helping to restock supplies in the classrooms, running errands for some of the professors, setting up displays with some of the student’s art (Steve really enjoys that part).

Friday Steve just works in the late morning and afternoons. Assists an adjunct art teacher with giving lectures. A job made possible by a friend, Logan, he made out in California putting a good word in for him. He gets to go around and offer a bit of help while students work on their projects. They even call him Mr. Rogers. It makes him feel a lot older than he is, but it does make him laugh.

Weekends, _some_ weekends, Steve’ll go out. Meet Sam for a drink at the bar, go to dinner with Tony and Pepper, or have Carol come over for a movie. Steve loves being back with his friends. Really, he does. It’s just, and he’s not blind to the fact that this is his own doing, being around them is a constant reminder of all that he’s missed with them. Makes him see that it might not be all that easy to find anyone with similar life experience.

Class with Bucky isn’t the nightmare he thought it was going to be. And at the same time it’s worse. Because Bucky doesn’t treat him the way he treats everyone else around him. He’s polite and they’ll interact when necessary. Complete labs together like they’re supposed to. The kid’s sweet and he’ll smile and make jokes here and there, even touch his arm or brush up against his leg but for the most part, he keeps Steve a stranger. Doesn’t warm up to him like Steve’s seen him do dozens of times before.

For some reason, this just makes Steve want him even _more_. Bucky’s total indifference to him, his lack of interest in _Steve_ when he’s so happy to make friends with nearly _everyone_ else around him, it drives Steve over the edge. Just being near Bucky is difficult. Which isn’t fair because Bucky isn’t the problem. Bucky’s perfectly reserved around him. Normal and casual. Interacting with Steve the way any two mere less than acquaintances would. Still, he leaves almost every class so turned on he’s made it a habit to wear shirts long enough to cover his crotch on days he’ll share class with Bucky.

Thing is, by week four, routine and pattern have gradually turned into a monotonous and lackluster existence. Steve is bored. Steve is lonely. Steve is still lost. Where is he going? What is he going to do? What does he even _want_? Is this it? Forever? Second guesses and wasted potential? He feels as though he’s standing in the middle of a crossroad, several unmarked paths that can lead him anywhere and he had no clue which one to go down.

One path stands out though. Steve can easily step onto it. All it starts with is using the number that weighs heavy in his phone.

***

The middle of October finds New York surprisingly chilly. Not unkind. Sweater weather, Steve’s mama used to call it. Fallen leaves and fresh autumn scents carried on light shivered breezes. A time for flavored beers and pumpkin displays.

It makes the student center a lot more crowded in the afternoons. This particular day? Sun’s shining hot and bright by the time noon rolls around. One of those days that started off brisk and ended up almost hot. Light jackets and heavier shirts have been shed for those lighter underneath.

Steve takes advantage of the emptier place. Finds a table for himself on the lower level. He should be studying for his history exam in an hour from now. Instead of doing that, Steve pulls out his sketch pad and starts drawing the layout of the entire place.

He’s only there for a few minutes when he hears a familiar laugh. Steve glances up from his sketch. Over at the pool table is Bucky. He’s presently leaned over it, leaned over in the most wonderfully provocative way, as he takes his shot. With him is his redheaded friend, who gets the chance to do one of the most tempting thing with Bucky in such a position.

When her hand swats right across Bucky’s sweet little ass, he jerks up with a yelp and grabs his behind. He laughs and flips her off, but before his hand is even all the way up, she’s latching onto his finger and bending it back. Bucky lets out a squeal and an apology. Several of them in rapid succession until she lets go. He says something to her. She says something back. They glare at each other and then break into a fit of laughter. Bucky tosses his arm over her shoulder and brings his lips to her temple.

They look sweet together. And Steve is jealous. Hates that he’s jealous. Has no reason to be jealous. Is jealous anyway. He wonders if maybe they’re sweet on each other, too. She _did_ give Steve quite a vicious look that first day of school. What if she knows what Bucky does and isn’t happy about it? Or maybe wasn’t pleased seeing him interact with a potential client.

Not that any of it matters. It does nothing to quell Steve’s jealousy. The fact that he feels it so strongly right now makes him feel horrible. He has no right to such an emotion. Bucky’s having fun with his friend. Possibly his girlfriend. And yet it’s there. Burning and bubbling through his body with such ferocity he wants to go over there and pull that damn kid into his arms and just never let him go.

Steve doesn’t really mean to watch them as they goof around. It’s rude and he knows it. But the longer he watches, the more he feels something other than jealousy. Something that branches out from the emotion, but not quite jealousy. He misses that. Just playing and joking. The comfort of being with someone warm and familiar, so easily able to just sit around and be near one another.

After nearly twenty minutes, Steve just can’t take it anymore. He needs to step onto that path. Forbidden and every bit better because of it.

His hands are trembling as he scrolls through his contact list to the one number he never thought he’d use but couldn’t bring himself to delete. Steve’s throat feels too tight even though he’s not going to be using it to talk anytime soon. Not sure what to say, since nothing seems appropriate, Steve just types the first thing that comes to mind.

**So… how does a full evening work?**

Just a few moments later, Bucky’s in the middle of another laugh with his friend when he pulls out his phone from his back pocket. He stares at the screen for a few seconds, looks like he’s reading over the text--Steve assumes it’s his--a few times. Bucky lifts his head, and even from where Steve’s seated he can see a smirk pulling up on his lips. That grin gets tucked under his teeth as he types a reply. Phone in his hand, Steve’s heart pounds as he waits to get it. He almost jumps out of his seat when it goes off.

**Bucky: Depends. Who wants to know?**

Oh that just sucks. This makes the entire exchange a hundred times harder. How does he answer that? Steve? Steve Rogers? Steve from bio? Fortunately he doesn’t have to. He gets another text just a few seconds later.

**Bucky: Only foolin Stevie. You interested in spending an evening with me?**

Steve takes a quick glimpse back over to where Bucky is. Just to see if he has that smug little look on his face. Only Bucky’s not there. He straightens up, turning his upper body enough to get a better view of the where Bucky’d been last. The redhead is still there. She’s chatting up someone else. In fact, Steve’s pretty that’s the guy that Bucky had been dancing with that night at the bar, too. Three of them must be pretty close. But Bucky’s no where to be seen.

Turning back around, Steve’s trying to figure out how to answer Bucky’s text, but all he can do is hold back a gasp when he sees him sitting right across from him.

“Jesus.” He mumbles.

“Nope. Still just Bucky.” He flashes that smirk of his. “How’s it going, Steve?”

Everything about Bucky is different now. The look in his eyes, the push of his lips, the tilt of his head, the way he practically stretches across the table--it’s all seductive. Predatory even. Prey’s set in his sights and he’s ready to do what he does best. And Steve is hardly prepared.

“Uh, I’m… okay. You?”

Bucky’s eating a candy bar. A bit of chocolate gets on the tip of his thumb and he sucks it off. When he notices Steve staring, since Steve literally _cannot_ takes his eyes off of Bucky’s mouth, he pulls his finger in deeper and sucks harder for a second before taking it back out, a popping noise sounding with it as a result.

“I’m good. So?”

“So.”

Bucky’s lips turn up. He licks them once and crinkles his nose. “You wanna spend an evening with me?”

“Well I just…” Steve clears his throat. There’s nothing there to clear, but he does it anyway. “I was just wondering how that whole thing works.”

“Ah, I see. Just interested in the specifics, huh?” He flips his hair back. “Kay’. An evening is four hours.”

“For five hundred.” Steve assumes.

That’s what the note said anyway. Full evening was five hundred dollars and he needed a week’s notice.

“For most people. I told _you_ three hundred, didn’t I?”

That genuinely surprises Steve. He really didn’t think Bucky would remember that offer. It was made over a month ago.

“Why is it different for me?”

“Does it matter?” Bucky chuckles and leans back now. Far enough that he’s still stretched out only in the opposite direction. “I mean, hell, you wanna slip me five bills, be my guest.”

“No. I mean, I will if that’s what you want. Cause if that’s what…” Steve shakes his head. Swallows hard and just starts again. “Never mind. So what happens?”

“What happens?” He holds in a laugh. “You’re still having some trouble graspin' this whole concept, ain't ya?”

“No I mean, uh, where? Or how?” Steve sighs. Feels Bucky’s eyes burning into him and making him blush. “Do you go to a hotel? Someone’s place? I just…”

“All up to you. Or, y’know, whatever my customer wants.”

“Oh.”

Bucky tilts his head when Steve doesn’t go on any further than that. Eyebrows flick up and palms fan out.

“Okay.” Steve mumbles. “Um, you said you needed a, uh, a week’s notice?”

“Normally, yeah. But my regular Thursday cancelled on me. Think she’s bailin’ as a customer.” Bucky leans in again. Says low and heated, “I can fit you in tomorrow if you want.”

Tomorrow? Oh. Oh that’s so soon. So soon and yet so damn far away.

“You can… come to my place?” Steve whispers.

His mouth quirks up into a grin. “If that’s what’chya want. What time?”

“Um.” Time. Time? Nothing too early. Not too late either. “Eight? Is that good?”

“I don’t got any other customers. S’up to you. You’re payin.” Then his face gets a bit more serious. “You aint gonna try an’ bail are ya? Call me when I’m on my way to cancel?”

Steve thinks on that for a moment. It’s a very real possibility for him, considering he almost did the last time. But Steve shakes his head.

“No. Don’t worry.”

“Who’s worried?” Bucky snickers. Hands behind his head he gives Steve a know-it-all shrug. “I know you want me.”

A wink is tossed in his direction. At the same time, Bucky’s tongue is pushing into his cheek.

“It’s not that.” Steve says and, upon seeing the almost astonished look start up on Bucky’s face, is quick to add, “I mean, not _just_ that. I’m… I just don’t wanna be…”

He doesn’t finish that. Eyes fall to the table and find no means of solace from the fake marble patterns there. A hand is suddenly on his. Bucky’s. Soft and warm. Fingertips caressing the top of Steve’s in gentle circular motions.

Bucky scoots his seat closer. Keeps his hand right on Steve and even trails his fingers further up his arm.

“I’ll be over tomorrow night, Stevie.” He murmurs. “You don’t gotta be so lonely.”

Steve looks up into Bucky’s eyes. They’re so big and wide, swimming with tender care and meaningful comfort. As though Bucky truly means to soothe him.

“Okay.”

“Just text me your address.” He tells him. “And I’ll be by at eight o’clock sharp.” Bucky nibbles on his lip. “I don’t make my clients wait.”

“Of course you don’t.” Steve comments. Surge of unpredictable confidence pulsing through him. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

That’s all it takes to make Bucky’s jaw drop a little. His mouth goes to form a few words though nothing comes out. When Steve smiles at him, a blush tickles his cheeks and he tucks his chin in.

“Yes, sir.” He whispers when he finally finds his voice again. “I’m a good boy.”

Steve lets out a hard exhale. He’s no idea how he’s gone this long without hearing that again. It’s just as powerful now as it was a month ago.

“Okay, well,” Bucky puts his palms down on the table, shifts a bit on the chair and then pushes himself up. “I’m gonna go. But I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

As he makes his way back to his friends, Bucky brushes those long, silky fingers along the back of Steve’s neck. A shiver crawls down Steve’s spine. Races through his limbs and makes him shake with anticipation. Because Bucky is coming over tomorrow. To his place. He’s going to be all Steve’s for four hours.

***

Rain comes out of dark, grey skies all day long. Drips and drabs of a dreary day that seems to drag on forever. Seconds, minutes, hours; they drag by on their bellies. A slow, tormenting day that doesn’t seem to want to let Steve out of its relentless grip.

Of course, nothing is different about this particular Thursday except what these torturously slow seconds, minutes and hours are leading up to. Doesn’t help that Steve was barely able to sleep last night thinking about it. Everything now seems to be moving slower. He’s trapped in a world of slow moving molasses, a movie that’s been paused for way too long. What a day for the Art Department to have zero to do other than basic office duties. Steve’s spent the afternoon xeroxing and filing and sorting through mail. Not exactly the sorts of activities one might like to partake in when needing a distraction from thoughts of the sinfully gorgeous, twenty-year-old sex worker that’s coming over later.

He’s supposed to work until five. Anxiety has Steve wanting to run home early. Anxiety has Steve wanting to stay until five on the dot. Both options do him no good. They won’t make eight o’clock roll around any faster or slower. All Steve can do is wait.

By the time he’s headed home, eighteen hundred hours later, Steve realizes he hasn’t texted Bucky his address. He does that quickly, without any greeting since the thought of adding one-- _hey, can’t wait to see you so I can pay to fuck you tonight_ \--feels totally idiotic. He _does_ , however, follow it up immediately with another text requesting that Bucky use an umbrella. Not only is it raining, but it’s getting cold out. Steve doesn’t want him getting sick.

When he gets home, Steve goes straight to cleaning up. Not that his place is a mess, but, well, admittedly, Steve’s not the neatest guy in the world. There’re unwashed socks dotting the floor and dishes in the sink, the carpet can use a vacuuming and the bathroom wouldn’t mind a touch up. Steve did make his bed this morning, but he undoes it and changes the sheets just for something else to do.

Now that he’s home, time must have started up again. Unfortunately, it seems to want to catch up with its lagging since it feels as though he’s just walked through the door when it’s actually a quarter after seven. Bucky’s due over in forty-five minutes and Steve still hasn’t showered.

In the shower is when the panic shows up. The sudden realization that Steve has _no_ idea what he’s going to do with Bucky when he gets here hits him fast and hard. Four hours with him. He was barely able to handle two. Now he’s paying for _twice_ that amount of time. Steve hasn’t even eaten dinner. What if Bucky hasn’t? Should he throw something together for them? Steve’s not a bad chef. Not the greatest, but he can spice up some jarred sauce and cook some spaghetti. Or maybe he has some instant mac and cheese.

Hot water streams down his body, glad to offer what comfort it can provide. Leaves his skin bright and pink.

Steve only has a few minutes to get dressed when he gets out of the shower. He just tosses on the first pair of jeans in his drawer and a white t-shirt. The comb does little to flatten his hair, even wet. Steve abandons the task when he hears the knock on the door. Shave and a haircut. Not the two bits part.

Eyes wide, he watches all the color drain from his reflection’s face. Exhaling sharply, he takes a quick look at the clock on his nightstand. Eight o’clock. Right on time. Steve gulps in two drinks of oxygen and goes to the door. He wipes his hand across his brow, flexes his fingers in an attempt to get them to stop shaking, and opens it.

He’s met with a saucy grin and a wink. Bucky’s head is tilted. He’s leaned up against the doorframe with his arms crossed, expertly positioned with ease, skill, and confidence. He’s got a tan leather jacket on; opened to reveal the grey t-shirt that fits snug around his body. His blue jeans aren’t as tight as the pants he wore the last time they did this, but they conform to his body like they were made for him. There’s an umbrella hanging around his wrist.

“Hello, Steve.” Bucky greets. Calm and slow. Drawing out Steve’s name as though he’s been dying to say it all day long.

Steve swallows the lump that’s trying to form in his throat. “Bucky.”

“So ya gonna invite me in?” He asks. “Or ya just gonna make me stand in the hall all night long?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Steve steps aside and gestures inside. “Come, uh, come on in.”

“Love a man with manners,” Bucky jests as he comes in, already shrugging out of his jacket.

Steve takes it from him. Hangs it on the hook next to his and stares at them for a moment. Two jackets, side by side. One wool, hooded, the other leather, collared. Like friends that should happen and just aren’t meant to be.

Bucky’s still standing there, watching with that twinkling, all assuming look in his eyes.

“You can take your shoes off.” Steve tells him. “If you want.”

“Kay.” He kicks those tan boots off. Two soft thuds on the carpet and nudges them to the side. “You’re nervous again, ain't ya?” Steve nods. “Well, we can start off the same way we did last time.”

The same way… oh. Right. Steve’s wallet is on the coffee table. He goes further into the living room and thinks belatedly to wave Bucky to follow. On the way home he’d stopped off at the ATM. Gotten out enough money for Bucky’s original price and then some. Just in case.

“Did you want the full five hundred?” Steve asks.

“Hell, I’d love for you to gimme five hundred.” He snickers. “But I told you three. So three it is. I don’t go back on my deals.”

He’s fishing through his wallet, pulling bills out. “I only have twenties. Is that okay?”

“Hey, greens are greens.”

Steve hands him the money as he’s answering. It’s in Bucky’s wallet within seconds. He doesn’t even bother counting it. As though Bucky has no doubt in his mind that Steve wouldn’t stiff him. Once his wallet is stuffed back in his pocket, Bucky peers back up at Steve. Teeth pressed into his bottom lip, his eyes get large and almost weepy.

He says, “Well there you go, Steve. I’m yours for the next four hours.” Bucky steps up close, runs both his hands up Steve’s arms. “What _do_ you plan on doing with me?”

Steve’s skin already starts heating up. Flames and everything. “I don’t know.”

“No?”

“What… um, what do people usually…”

Bucky chuckles. “Depends on the person. Some people like to go out with me. Take me to fancy places and show me off. Some enjoy a four hour sexcapade. Some do some of both.” His soft hands trail up Steve’s neck so that they can cup his face. “What would you like?”

What would Steve like? Shit. To push Bucky down to his knees. Have him beg to suck his cock. Fuck that beautiful mouth. Fingers through that gorgeous head of hair. Bend him over the coffee table. Pound into him till he’s screaming Steve’s name. Pleading to come. Only if he’s been good.

“Are you hungry?” He whispers.

Bucky backs his head away. “What?”

“Hungry? I mean,” Steve tries that again. “Have you eaten?”

“Oh. N-well, I had something with Nat.”

“Who’s Nat? Is that your girlfriend? The redhead?”

“Yeah, she’s... wait. Natasha? My girlfriend?” That makes Bucky laugh. “No, no. She’s not my girlfriend. Just my buddy. Well,” His eyes sweep down. Lovingly, full of affection he’s probably not aware is showing, “She’s my best friend in the world.”

That… well, that makes Steve feel… great. It shouldn’t. He’s very aware of that. But knowing that the redhead, Nat, isn’t his girlfriend, it’s a very freeing feeling. The fact that he has someone looking out for him, which this Nat clearly does, makes him feel good, too.

“What did you eat with Nat?”

“Um, soup.”

Steve almost laughs. “Ramen noodles?”

Bucky blushes. “Too cliche?”

“Sit down.” He instructs after a half attempted effort to hold back a roll of his eyes. “I’m making pasta. You’re having some.”

“You’re gonna cook for me, Stevie?”

This time Steve holds back nothing. Palm on Bucky’s chest he gives him a shove just hard enough so that he falls back on the couch. It makes Bucky laugh almost as hard and unreserved as the way he does when he’s with Nat.

“Do I have to wait in here?” He calls as Steve heads towards the kitchen. “I can’t come with you?”

Steve looks over his shoulder. Finds Bucky practically hanging over the back of the couch.

“No. Stay right there.” He orders. It feels natural, too. Especially when Bucky’s body simply slides obediently back down onto the cushions. Steve needs time to think. Can’t have Bucky in the small kitchen with him when he’s trying to prepare the oh-so-difficult pasta dish. “You can watch television while I’m cooking.”

He’s just about to slip into the kitchen when he hears a quiet, “Yes, sir.”

That one little thing goes straight through his body. Sparks and firecrackers. Steve splashes cold water on his face before filling a pot with hot water. He heats up some sauce. Tosses in some spices. Oregano, basil, parsley, salt, pepper, cheese, some chopped onion and garlic. Takes a bit of time so the water’s boiling by the time he’s done with that. He’s got rigatoni, fast cook. It only takes about twelve minutes. Quickly topping the whole thing off with shredded mozzarella, Steve’s actually a little proud. Okay, so it might not be fine cuisine, but it’s edible and it looks pretty nice and it smells good.

Both plates in hand Steve heads back to the kitchen. Excited. Fantasies dwelling very much on the domestic side at the moment. Even more so when he sees Bucky curled up on his couch. Legs tucked under his body and laughing at… well Steve’s not sure what he’s watching but it’s a cartoon.

“What’re you watching?”

Bucky glances over. Startled maybe by Steve’s sudden presence. Which makes his persona shift for just a second.

“Adventure Time.” He says. “Ever watch it?”

“Nope. Should I?”

“Yeah. S’real good.” He stretches his neck. Tries to get a glimpse at the meal Steve’s prepared. “What’chya got there?”

“Depends.” Steve teases. “You hungry?”

Bucky smiles. “A little.”

“Ramen noodles didn’t quite cut it?”

He hands one of the plates to Bucky who looks at it very enthusiastically. After just one forkful, Bucky closes his eyes and moans. Mouth still full, he gawks over at Steve.

“This is really fucking good.”

Steve laughs. Finds earlier nerves starting to rest aside in the face of normal, everyday behavior.

“It’s just jarred sauce.” He replies. Takes a bit himself and asks, “What’re you majoring in, Bucky? Oh is it… okay to still call you Bucky? Or do you want me to call you James?”

“Why would I want you to call me James?”

He sounds pretty confused when he asks that, mouth stuffed with food and all.

“Well, you said that only your friends and favorite clients call you Bucky. I wasn’t sure if I…”

He trails off when Bucky laughs.

“Do you think I undercharge people I _don’t_ want calling me Bucky?”

“Oh. Okay.” Steve tries to hold in a smile. “So, then, what’re you majoring in?”

“English.”

“Do you want to write?”

Bucky looks at him like he either doesn’t understand the question or it’s the most bizarre one he’s ever received.

“What?” Steve asks.

“You didn’t ask if I wanted to be a teacher. Everyone asks that.”

Steve laughs. “Yeah, I know. They ask me that, too.”

“Cause you’re an art major?”

“How did you…”

“You said you were in California to be an artist.” Bucky shrugs. “I just figured.”

Steve’s actually a little touched that he remembered that. He probably shouldn’t let it get to his head. This is all part of Bucky’s repertoire. He learns and absorbs. Uses what he can to make others feel good and confident. All part of the act.

“So, do you?” Steve presses.

“Do I what?”

“Want to write?”

“Oh.” Bucky shovels more food into his mouth. “Yeah. I mean, sorta. That’d be cool, but I wanna be a literary agent. Read people’s work before anyone else does and maybe have a hand in making their dreams come true.”

That’s actually really sweet. At least, of the two of them, one has some direction. He might be eight years younger than him, but Bucky seems to have a hell of a better grip on his life goals than Steve’s ever had. Steve truly hopes that wherever life takes him, Bucky’ll succeed and be happy. Kid deserves it.

“God, this is really good.” Bucky says again with his mouth stuffed.

“You don’t make enough to not live off of ramen?”

“Yeah, but,” Bucky scoops some more food into his mouth even though he hasn’t swallowed, “Between tuition and books and rent and a mortgage and other bills some weeks get a little tighter than others.”

“You pay rent _and_ a mortgage?”

Bucky’s gaze lifts from his plate. He doesn’t really look at anything, not even the t.v. even though his eyes are on it.

“Uh, I…”

“You wanna drink?” Steve asks. Spares Bucky the question he so clearly doesn’t want to answer prompted by something he must have let slip.

“Oh yeah. Sure.”

Steve brings him a soda. Fetches a beer for himself and refuses Bucky cause, _No, I’m not giving you alcohol_.

“Relax, narc, I’m foolin’” Bucky stretches and takes the can of soda. “I don’t drink when I work, remember?”

“You really shouldn’t be drinking at your age anyway.”

Bucky groans and rolls his head back.

“Dude, for real, the hell did you do at my age?” He asks. “Y’know, a whole _eight years ago._ ”

“I was out in California trying to earn a living.”

“And I suppose you _never_ had a drink? Not once, huh? Not Mr. Grandpa Narc over--”

Steve’s stuffed some pasta into Bucky’s mouth with his own hand, effectively shutting him up. Some of it has made it in. A few pieces topple down his chin and onto his lap.

“Steve!” He laughs.

“You just have to be a smartass, don’t you?”

Wiping his chin and mouth with his napkin, Bucky gives Steve a pair of sheepish eyes and pouty lips.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve snickers. “You about done there?”

“Oh,” There’s barely anything left on his plate. He looks down at it like he can’t believe it’s all gone already. “Yeah. Thanks. It was real good.”

“Thanks. I’m glad you liked it.”

Steve takes a few minutes to actually wash the dishes instead of just leaving them in the sink. When he gets back to the living room, Bucky’s clearly waiting for him. No longer interested in the program he was watching earlier and seated on his knees.

“So, you cooked me dinner. Fed me.” He coos, trailing his fingers along the back of the couch. “Is that your master plan for three hundred dollars?”

“I don’t know.” Steve admits. “I… can I think about it?”

“Course ya can.” He shrugs. “Like I keep sayin’, Steve, you paid for me.” His voice gets lower. Seductive and rich. “I’m _yours_ for another three hours, sir.”

Closing his hands to fists, Steve nods. Feels Bucky watching his Adam’s apple bob with his dry swallow.

“Okay. I’m… I’m gonna put a movie on. For now.”

Bucky smirks with a nod. “Alright. What movie?”

“Pick one.”

He points him over to his movies. Bucky selects an older comedy. Slapstick and cornball and has him laughing so hard sometimes he’s holding his sides like it hurts. He’s obviously seen it multiple times since he’s mouthing some of the lines along with the movie, but still cracking up. Steve’s not paying any attention to the television. He’s more interested in watching Bucky.

Everything about him turns Steve on. Even when he’s doing nothing but sitting there laughing along with a movie. He stretches out on the couch, cozy and comfortable like he’s been coming around for years, elbow on the arm of it and feet close enough to Steve that it’d be easy to scoop them up to drop them on his lap.

The movie’s more than half over, and Steve can’t be sure if his time has been well spent or wasted. As much as he wants to be all over Bucky, have Bucky all over him, he’s thoroughly enjoying watching the kid giggling at the movie and lounging comfortably across his sofa. He’s been semi-hard this whole time and has to suck in a deep breath when Bucky laughs again, this time flopping his upper body over the edge of the couch a bit. He happens to look over at Steve. A nonchalant, simple motion, as if to see if Steve is laughing to.

Steve really has no idea what part of the movie they’re even up to anymore. All he’s focused on is Bucky. That long, angular body. Long legs, long arms, lean and made for him.

The ease in which Bucky gets the atmosphere to shift should be alarming. One minute Steve is a spectator, watching him light up with laughter in the soft glow of the television. The next, Bucky’s eyeing him like he’s never been so hungry in his life. Or maybe he senses Steve’s hunger and is more than willing to feed him his fill.

Without taking those piercing eyes of his off Steve, Bucky reaches for the remote on the coffee table and mutes the T.V. He slowly lifts himself up, using the arm of the couch for support. Once he’s there, sitting up straight, posture perfect and regal, he slips his shirt over his head. Lets it fall from his fingers to the floor. There’re marks right under Bucky’s collarbone. Faded, maybe a few days old. Bucky leans forward and somehow ends up _crawling_ towards Steve.

As soon as he’s within reach, Steve cups his face the way Bucky said he likes. That makes his eyes close softly and Bucky weaves his fingers into Steve’s golden tresses. He makes a fist. Doesn’t pull, but he does use the bit of leverage to help himself move up so he can start sucking on Steve’s neck.

A moan, deep and heady, fills his throat. Steve’s entire body feels like it’s made of fire. His erection rubs painfully against the rough denim of his jeans. At the moment he hardly cares. All he wants right now is Bucky. Closer. Bucky’s sucking at his clavicle. Dotting the skin along the area with puffy red marks. Steve slides his hand into the back of Bucky’s pants. Cups his ass hard and possessive and heaves him onto his lap.

Bucky’s a bit startled by the action. Legs straddling Steve’s waist, he’s got his hands on his chest to prop himself up.

“You less nervous now, Stevie?”

“I don’t know what the fuck I am, Bucky.” Steve says. He barely even recognizes his own voice. Deep and husky the way it sounds in the moment. “Just kiss me.”

He presses his teeth into his bottom lip for just one second, before pushing it out and then licking it.

“Yes, _sir_ ,” He drawls and leans in to catch Steve’s mouth with his.

Steve pulls Bucky’s tongue into his mouth. Sucks on it. Savors the taste, the sensation, the texture. Grinds up and pulls Bucky’s hips along for the ride. Bucky groans against his lips and fusses with the bottom of Steve’s shirt, trying to pick it up to get it off of him. Steve decides to tease him a bit. Won’t let Bucky get his shirt off despite his greatest efforts and after a bit of struggling, he almost pulls away with a sigh.

But instead of pulling far away, Bucky glides his tongue along Steve’s jawline and down his neck. He’s figured out that a bit of sucking, hard sucking, light sucking, whatever, is easily one of Steve’s hot buttons. Bucky’s good at what he does and as tight as Steve’s skin feels around his bones, all his muscles have turned to jelly under the pressure and suction of Bucky’s mouth. It takes Bucky mere seconds to get Steve’s shirt off.

Instinct has Steve moving his arms to cover himself, but the look in Bucky’s eyes makes him stop. The kid’s staring down at him like he’s waited his whole life to see his body, even if he’s already seen it. Even if it cost Steve three hundred dollars to be looked at in such a way.

Bucky swallows and says, “Shame on me.”

“What?”

“I almost forgot how fucking gorgeous you are.” He shakes his head and tsk, tsks at himself, ignoring Steve's flushed skin. “You know what’d be hot?”

Steve needs a moment to inhale, sharp and harsh, before answering since Bucky thrusts his hips into him.

“What’s that?” He grunts.

Taking Steve’s left nipple between two fingers, Bucky rolls it a bit. Little pressure, doesn’t squeeze or pinch. He stares into Steve’s eyes the whole time.

“Nipple piercing.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“You’d look fucking hot. S’all I’m sayin’.”

He moves in again and starts kissing Steve’s chest. Warm, moist tongue lapping across his burning skin.

“So what’s it gonna be, Stevie?” He whispers between strokes of the tongue. “What’re you gonna do with your Bucky?”

Steve sucks in a hard breath. His hands are running up and down Bucky’s sides. Feeling as much of him as they can.

“Bucky?” He whispers as the kid starts teasing his nipple with his lips. “Do you really act like a table for someone?”

The question must catch him a little off guard. Bucky’s lips stop doing what they’re doing for a brief moment before picking up again, as though trying to cover for that short lapse.

“I do.” Bucky gives that spot, now tender and sensitive and Steve hisses a bit, a little nibble, and sits up. “I got my technique down near perfect and everything.”

Without being asked, Bucky positions himself over Steve’s lap, propped up on his knees and elbows. His back is straight and rigid and Steve runs his fingers across his spine.

“She can balance her drinks and plates on me.” Bucky announces proudly. “M’real good at this. You wanna try, Steve? Got some dessert you wanna eat off me?”

That’s not what Steve has in mind. It’s just the position, with Bucky over him this way, that’s got Steve’s mind going. Those wild nights and deep, inner desires that make him blush like a school boy.

“Mm-mm.” Steve guides Bucky off his knees and elbows, soft and gentle, so that he’s laying across his lap. “I wanna spank you.”

A shudder passes through Bucky’s entire body. Steve can feel the tremble rush through it as he molds over his thighs. He tilts his head to look up at him, a pair of eyes peeking through strands of dark, silky hair.

“You do?”

 

“Is that okay?”

He shrugs. “Hell, you’re…”

“No.” Steve shakes his head. Know’s how he’s going to answer that. “Not because I’m paying. Have you ever been spanked before?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Course I been spanked before. Just… never had a customer do it.”

“Would you rather keep it personal then? I won’t do it if you don’t want me to. Not if you don’t trust me.”

He’s wiping the hair away from Bucky’s face. The kid’s pupils are totally blown and Steve can feel Bucky’s hard-on digging more and more against his leg. He swallows hard and looks away. Steve takes his chin and coaxes him to look back.

“It’s up to you, Bucky. You be a good boy and answer.”

The first reply Steve gets is a broken whimper. God he’s so fucking good at this. At playing his part. That innocent look on his face. Eyes wide. Lips parted just slightly. So sweet and docile and submissive.

“I do, sir.” He breathes out softly. “And I trust you, Steve.”

“You do, Bucky?”

“Yes. I… want you to spank me, sir.”

“Then ask me to.”

He sucks in a rough breath. Steve gives him a moment. Pets his hand over his head to encourage him.

“Will you spank me, sir?” He whines. “Make it hurt real good?”

Steve tugs at the brim of Bucky’s pants. “Take these off.”

“Yes, sir.”

They’re off in seconds. Folded neatly and placed on the coffee table when Steve tells him not to make a mess. He eases his way back onto Steve’s lap once Steve gives him a nod. Once again, Steve can’t pick apart reality from fantasy. He’s not sure if Bucky’s playing the part up for the sake of a paying customer or if he’s truly excited about this. Steve is. Oh _god_ is he. There’s something so deliciously addicting about this. About having Bucky naked and vulnerable while he’s still half dressed.

The moment he runs his hand over Bucky’s delicious, plump ass he’s ready for forgo the spanking and wants to just get inside of it. But he stills his hand and uses the back of the other to caress Bucky’s cheek.

“Traffic lights, okay?” He murmurs. “You remember?”

Bucky nods. “Red to stop. Yellow to slow down. Green to go.”

“Good boy.” He gets another soft, contented whimper from him. “You ready?”

“Yes, Steve. Sir.”

The confirmation is followed by a sound, muffled by the cushion Bucky has his face pressed into. Steve lifts his hand and holds it up for a moment. It doesn’t quiver. He’s done this before. But he’s unprecedentedly nervous. Steve wants this to be good for Bucky. Not that he didn’t want it to be good for any other partners he’s been with. It’s just… different with Bucky. He’d like to send him off with that smile the woman at the hotel spoke of last time.

He brings his hand down. And holds back right at the last second. Doesn’t strike nearly as hard as he intended. He can barely feel it on his own hand and Bucky hardly reacts. In fact, he might even scoff at that pathetic excuse for a slap. Not letting Bucky get away with that little scoff though, he does it again.

No warning this time. Brings his hand down fast and hard. A sharp sound slices through the silence of the room, like a crack of a gun that startles the peace of a still night.

Bucky jerks up, a high-pitched whine breaking free from his throat. Steve stays him. Places a hand on the back of his neck and helps him relax again.

“Okay?” Steve asks.

“Y-yes.” He chokes out. “More. Please _more_.”

He sounds almost drunk. Lost in the sensation of just one good slap that’s sent a tingle of pins and needles from the whole of Steve’s palm throughout the rest of his body.

“You’re gonna get ten altogether.” Steve tells him. “Not counting that first one.”

Steve spanks him again. Gets something between a grunt of pain and a moan of pleasure. One more on the same cheek and Steve waits a moment before the fourth. He gives Bucky no chance to recuperate from that one before slapping his hand down swift and fast on his other cheek. Bucky yelps and throws himself up on his elbows.

He eases him back down, petting him from the top of his head all the way down to his cherry red bottom. That last one will definitely bruise. There’re tears in his eyes, though none quite broken out yet, and Bucky sniffles.

“Gimme a color, Bucky.”

“Green.” He whispers. Dreamy and far-off sounding, yet rough and strained.

“Hands behind your head.” He instructs, and Bucky’s in position the second the last word rolls of his tongue. “Don’t move like that again. Can you be a good boy, Bucky? Hold still?”

He whines a little, but otherwise nods. Steve takes a grip in Bucky’s hair and makes him look up at him.

“ _Talk_ to me , Bucky. Be a good boy. Let me hear you so I know you understand.”

Bucky’s eyes are wide and wet. Glassy as those tears threaten to spill over the brim any second. His cheeks are so red it makes the rest of his face look unnaturally pale.

“Y-yes, sir. I’ll be… good. A good boy. For you.”

Steve bends down and licks Bucky’s mouth before sucking him into a kiss. There’s nothing neat about it at all. It’s rough and sloppy, feral even. Noisy and has their teeth clicking and tongues lapping together in a desperate attempt to reach every inch of the other. Steve slams his hand down again while still locked against Bucky’s mouth.

Bucky gasps against his lips. Whine and tenses, but does his very best not to move like he’s been told. Steve breaks the kiss. Sees the tears have finally gotten the best of Bucky.

“Good boy.” Steve praises and lets him rest his head back down, hands still locked behind it.

It’s at the eighth hit that Bucky starts to shake. All his breaths are coming out whiny and he’s both lifting his hips and shying away in anticipation of Steve’s palm. Steve can feel Bucky’s erection pressing against his leg, drooling pre-come and kissing a wet spot into his pants. He’s starting to have trouble being good now. Becoming restless and trying to discreetly grind up against Steve without Steve noticing.

Steve permits him to torment himself a moment longer before seizing hold of his hip and forcing him to stop. Bucky lets out a high pitched, needy and very pathetic sounding whine.

“M’sorry, sir, m’sorry.” He whimpers. His fingers clench around his hair. “Oh… Oh, please, _please_ , Steve, can I move? Please say I can move. I… oh I wanna be a good boy, sir. Wanna be good for you…”

He’s crying in earnest now. Tears streaming down his face. Ass red and burning under Steve’s hand and needing so much more. Steve wipes some of the tears from his face and lifts his thigh enough that it pushes even more pressure into Bucky’s cock than he’d been able to provide for himself. Bucky releases a long held, blissful cry. Another one when Steve does it for him again.

“What do we say, Bucky?”

“Oh thank you.” He moans. “Thank you, sir, thank you.”

“Two more to go, baby. Can you take them?”

“Yes yes yes.” Bucky’s trying to get control of himself and not move his hips anymore. “Please please please.”

Steve chuckles and runs his hand over Bucky’s naked body. Top to bottom, raking his fingernails into his already tender skin. He needs to press harder since he keeps his nails short. Makes it easier for using charcoal and holding pencil’s still. Bucky chokes a bit on the air as four pink lines bloom across both his cheeks.

“I’m going to tie you up next time you’re here.” He mumbles. He’s no idea where the thought’s come from. It’s just there. Bucky’s wrists tied to his bedposts. Struggling while he teases him and brings him to close to the edge, backs off and does it again and again. “Gonna tease you and make you beg and not let you come until I say so.”

Bucky groans. Then he lifts his head like he’s thinking about something. He turns to peer at Steve. Lashes wet and still crying.

“You want me back over, Stevie?” He asks.

He sounds so sincerely happy when he asks his question that Steve nearly melts. Once again, Steve can’t pick apart lies from truths. There’s something so genuine about him right now. Nothing smug or assuming about him. Just all Bucky. All him.

“Yes.” Steve answers and cups the side of his face. “Yes, Bucky, I do.”

The smile that pulls up on Bucky’s face, it’s the same Steve’s seen when he’s with his friend Natasha.

“Will you tie me up tonight, Steve? Sir?”

“No. Not tonight.” Steve gives him slap nine when he whines about that. Bucky grunts and, right before his head drops back down, Steve sees his eyes roll back. “Don’t be a bad boy. You get what I give you.”

“Yes. Yes, sir.”

Steve doesn’t answer. He spanks him one last time. The hardest one. One that makes Bucky cry out.

“Good boy.” Steve praises. “You’re such a good boy, Bucky.”

“Oh oh, please will you touch me now, sir? Please?”

He’s trembling pretty hard. Pleading, whimpering, whining. Trying to catch his breath and get ahold of himself by burying his face in Steve’s thigh.

“Breathe, Bucky. Deep breaths.” Steve pets him again. Offers comfort and more praise and soothing touches. “Come on. On your back.”

Helping him, Steve actually does most of the work. Lifts Bucky’s body off of his lap and onto the couch. He wipes the remnant of tears away from his cheeks. Kisses his eyes and nose and lips and chin until Bucky’s breathing starts to steady. The whole time, Bucky’s running his hands through Steve’s hair. Like he just needs to feel him. As Steve goes to move away, he catches a glimpse of the mark under Bucky’s clavicle he noticed earlier. He brushes it over it with this thumb. Bucky looks down as though trying to look at it even though it’s on a spot he won’t be able to see without a mirror.

Steve doesn’t like it. In fact, he hates it. Hates that there’s a mark on Bucky’s body that he hasn’t put there. It’s insane. Bucky’s not his. Not even close. He’ll never be his. He’s paying for him. Just one of many. Everyone wants this kid. How could they not? This beautiful, amazing person. It’s not fair. Fuck, Steve wants him forever and lunges in to cup his mouth right over the mark that shouldn’t be there. Not on his Bucky who isn’t his at all.

Arms latch around him. Bucky trying to pull him in even closer and moaning at the top of his lungs. He sucks and nibbles and bites and sucks more until he’s fully satisfied that whatever was there will be fully covered by _his_ mark. Dark and nearly purple. Steve presses his thumb into the new mark.

“Better.” He growls.

Bucky smiles. Dreamy and open and completely unguarded. “Yes.”

“What do you want, Bucky? My hand, my mouth or my cock?”

“You… want me to pick?” He looks so confused. As though someone, or rather, a customer, asking him what he wants just makes no sense to him. “Really?

“Yes. You pick.”

“Your…” Bucky takes a second to think about it, “mouth? Please?”

“You got it.”

He takes no time to warm up. Just takes Bucky’s entire cock into his mouth and sucks. His thick cock tastes wonderful. Steve gives him a few full thrusts into the back of his throat and then sticks to little suckles at the tip while wrapping his hand around the base. Keeps Bucky guessing with little twists and full on sucks, added pressure and swirls of his tongue.

Bucky screams out into the night. Words spilling from him mouth. Rolling off his tongue in both English and something else.

“God! Oh _fuck_! Steve! вот дерьмо! святое дерьмо!” He’s had his fingers curled in Steve’s hair, but lets go. Steve peers up to see him pulling at his own now. He looks totally debauched. Panting for air and desperate to get the right amount. “Oh… mmm… I can’t… I… M’gonna… oh, Steve… пожалуйста, please, sir… I need to come… pleasepleaseplease…”

Steve lifts his mouth off of him, keeps his hand going. Watching for a moment, he knows already he loves the way Bucky struggles to maintain whatever ounce of control he might have left in him as he tries so hard not to come without permission. He’s losing now though. Coming undone under Steve’s touch and wants so badly to stay good for him.

“You’ve been so good, baby. Not gonna mess up now are you?”

“Oh God,” Bucky grunts. Tosses his head back and grinds his teeth together in every effort to listen. “о боже… I… oh… no…” His eyes are on the ceiling. Frantically trying to find a way to regain focus. He whimpers and whines and starts to cry again. Gets out one tiny, “Please…”

“Go ahead, sweet boy. Come. Come your little heart out.”

“Fuck!” Bucky grabs onto Steve’s arm. “Oh shit! Shit!”

The way he shakes, throwing his hips up and head back, Steve’s not sure how the whole couch isn’t shaking with him. He looks perfect when he comes. Beautiful white lines of semen squirting out of him and streaking across his gorgeous belly.

“So good,” Steve whispers as he runs fingers through Bucky’s sweat soaked hair. “So perfect. So beautiful.” He grabs his own shirt, hanging off the back of the couch this whole time, and wipes Bucky clean. “I'm gonna fuck your mouth. Okay?" 

Bucky gives him a weak smile and nod. Steve pulls down his own pants. The second his dick springs free it dawns on him how much he aches for this. He’s been so focused on Bucky he didn’t even realize how hard and painful his own erection, stuffed and hidden beneath the tight space of his jeans, has become. 

"Condoms're in your pocket?" Steve asks.

Bucky nods. Points over to the table as though Steve might have forgotten where his pants have ended up. Steve reaches into the back pocket and pulls out a handful. Three of them are non-lubed, all flavored. He chuckles and fans them out to him. 

"Which flavor?"

Bucky blushes. "Can you use the chocolate one?"

Steve laughs as he selects that one, tosses the others aside and puts it on.

"Open up for me now." He instructs. "Can you do that?"

Bucky moistens his lips before opening his mouth wide and tilting his head back. Steve slowly feeds himself to into his mouth.

The groan hits him unexpectedly. Bucky’s fucking mouth is heaven. Hot, wet. Wraps around Steve’s cock in every perfect way. He can’t take his time. Steve thrusts in. Holds Bucky’s face still and fucks. Everything tightens so fast, heat curling around his belly and wiping almost everything but need and desire.

“Shit…” He moans. “Bucky..."

Bucky's grabbing onto his hips and sucking even harder. Steve falls forward to use the arm of the couch for support. Thrusts forward in suit with Bucky’s sucks. Fireworks shoot off. Crackle and blaze and his vision fades as sinful pleasure washes over him in wave after wave of blissful ecstasy. Bucky waits till he softens, adds a few suckles even though it only makes Steve hiss and tremble--he likes it anyway--before letting his dick fall from his mouth.

Still hovered over him, Steve glances down when Bucky trails his fingers over his chest. He smiles up at him. Eyes glossy, but starting to clear.

“You okay, Steve?” He whispers.

Steve nods. Lowers himself down to kiss Bucky’s forehead. When he pushes back up, Bucky’s eyes are closed. There’s a tiny grin on his face, dried tears around his eyes, and a bit of saliva at the corner of his mouth.

“Bucky? You with me?”

“Mm-mm.” He shakes his head. “Tired.”

Steve chuckles. “Can I do something for you? You want food? Water? I have _real_ chocolate if you need sugar.” His eyes open again and he watches as he goes on. “I can hold you if you want. Wrap you in a blanket until you have more energy.”

There’s something particularly strange about the way Bucky stares at him. Borders between longing and… anger.

“No. I’ll take that blanket though.”

Unsure what to make of that look, Steve reaches out to touch him again. Just a soft, gentle touch that Bucky tenses and braces for. Because he’s being paid to be touched. So Steve pulls away.

“Okay.” He murmurs. Confused. “I’ll be right back.”

There’re spare blankets in the hall closet and, after tossing the condom away and pulling his boxers back on, Steve heads over there. He glances over his shoulder to check on Bucky. From what he can see, he’s turned over on his side and curled up. Steve hurries and grabs the first blanket he can. Goes back over and finds Bucky has indeed curled in.

“Hey,” He reaches over the back of the couch and swipes the hair away from his face. “Are _you_ okay?”

His eyes are closed again. It takes him a moment but just seconds after his eyebrows flick up he sighs and smirks.

“Yeah. I’m cool. Sorry.” He looks over his shoulder. “Really.”

“Alright.” Not that he completely believes him. Something happened there. Something Bucky doesn’t want to talk about. Steve drapes the blanket over his naked body. “Rest. I’ll be right back.”

Bucky pulls the blanket up to his chin and nods. Sighs contently as his eyes flutter closed again.

In the kitchen, Steve prepares an ice-pack and grabs a bottle of aloe vera from the fridge. After a few deep breaths to keep panic from hitting him--he’s done it again, and knows damn well he wants it more--he goes back to the living room.

“Hey, sit up.” Steve says as he comes around the front of the couch. Bucky eyes him and the items in his hand curiously. “Let me make sure you’re okay.”

Bucky does sit up, but he shakes his head in the process. He moves carefully, too. Winces just slightly and tries not to.

“Nah, Steve, I’m good.” He waves Steve off. “I don’t need that shit.”

Steve pauses. Stares at him for a second as Bucky reaches down for his shirt. He grabs his shoulder to stop him.

“Uh-ah. No way.” He scolds. Firm and authoritative. First time he’s really spoken like that all night. Bucky peers up at him. “Look, if you’re not going to accept aftercare from me, I can’t do anything about that. But I’m _not_ letting you leave here without you at _least_ letting me take care of you physically. If you’re not going to take care of yourself then I will. Besides,” Steve glances at the cable box, “You’re still _mine_. I’ve paid for you for another fifteen minutes. I get what I want, isn’t that the way it works?”

Bucky folds his lips in. For a moment it looks as though he can’t fully process what Steve’s telling him. He swallows hard and nods.

His voice is meek and humble when he answers, “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Oh. Yes, sir.”

Act back on. So easily, too. Bucky responds wonderfully to a firm tone and just the right amount of care.

“Now tell me.”

For a second, Bucky seems unsure of what Steve’s after. Then it clicks. And when it does he touches the mark below his collarbone.

“I’m yours.” He whispers.

“Good boy.” Steve murmurs, tucking his hand under Bucky’s chin and ignoring the butterflies forming at the sound of such a magical lie. “Now lie down.”

“Can I…” He rattles his head like he didn’t even realize he was speaking. “Never mind.”

“No go on.” Steve encourages. “You can ask for whatever you want.”

There’s some sort of internal struggle going on inside him. Something Bucky both wants to ask for and wants to keep in. He curls his lips to one side and comes to a decision.

“You think I could… go over your lap again?”

Steve holds in a grin and nods.

“Sure, Buck.” He sits down and pats his thigh. “Come on.”

He gets a shy smile, nibbled on and held back, and Steve thinks he really loves this part of Bucky. Not that he doesn’t like the rest of him as well, but there’s something about this, about Bucky being sweet and shy that makes Steve’s heart melt. As Bucky crawls over his lap again, Steve notices he’s tense and, maybe, nervous. He tries to relax him by first rubbing his shoulders and back, kneading fingers in his skin and muscles before gently placing the ice-pack over various spots of his still pretty red ass. He tenses at first.

“Sh,” Steve soothes. “It’s okay. I got you.”

Bucky nods and lets him continue without a word, head tucked comfortably in his arms. In the middle of spreading and rubbing the cool, aloe vera into his skin, Steve notices Bucky peeking up at him through the folds of his arm. There’s hair in his way, but he’s definitely watching.

“What?”

“Nothin’.” He whispers and goes back to hiding.

It’s really the quickest fifteen minutes in Steve’s life. After a day that felt like hours and hours, the last few minutes go by in the blink of an eye. The murmur of a heartbeat and it’s over.

“Time’s up.” Bucky says at a minute past midnight.

“Yeah.” Steve mumbles as Bucky lifts himself up.

“You alright, dude?” He asks as he dresses. “Not freakin out on me, right?”

“No.”

Steve heaves off the couch to get Bucky’s jacket for him. Kid’s already pulling out a cigarette. He chuckles when Steve eyes him.

“Don’t worry. I’ll wait till I’m outside.”

“You shouldn’t smoke.”

“Yeah, yeah. Lots’a stuff I shouldn’t do.” He snickers as Steve helps him into his jacket. “Look at this. Chivalry all wrapped up in a Steve Rogers shaped package. How lucky can I get?”

Steve smiles. “Mama taught me well.”

“So, you said somethin’ about wantin’ me back over.” Bucky tilts his head. Time sure is up, and he’s right back to _this_ Bucky. The one who knows _exactly_ what he’s doing. Elbow leaned up against the wall, body stretched because of it. “Or was that just in the heat of the moment?”

“It was… true. I’d like to see you again.”

“Kay, well…” He licks his lips and runs his fingers through his hair. “I told ya, my regular Thursday quit on me. I can fit you in instead. You think that’s somethin’ you want, Steve? Maybe you don’t gotta get so lonely no more.”

His throat feels dry. One night a week with Bucky sounds like both heaven and hell. On the one hand, that means he gets one night a week with him. On the other hand, that means he gets _only_ one night a week with him.

“How bout it, Steve?” Bucky asks again. “Same time next week?” He reaches out and runs his hand up Steve’s shirt. “You can tie me up like you said.”

“You like being tied up?”

“Maybe. If you want to discuss that, we can. Next time. When I’m yours again.”

A tremble rocks through Steve. Bucky’s giving him that look again. The one that makes him think he knows all his deepest, innermost secrets and is just waiting to either exploit or treasure them.

“Okay.” He breathes.

“Is that a yes then?”

“Oh. Yes.”

He grins and flicks his eyebrows at him.

“Great. We’ll stick with three hundred, ‘kay, Steve?”

“Yeah. Whatever works for you.”

Bucky smiles. Reaches up for Steve’s face and cups it before giving it a light tap.

“Thanks for the food. Night, Steve.” He says as he opens the door instead of waiting for Steve to get it for him.

“Good night, Bucky.”

He watches Bucky as he makes his way down the hall, swinging his umbrella in a circle as he does. Not once does he even look back in Steve’s direction. Steve waits until he’s out of sight before closing the door.

He still has no idea what he’s doing. But he’s taken a step onto a path there’s no turning back from.

Steve’s hooked.

And Thursday can’t come soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So I hope you enjoyed Chapter 2! :) 
> 
> Feel free to find me on tumblr at [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Hope to see you for the next update.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always please be mindful of the tags. Bucky is a sex worker. I'm trying to handle that has non-offensively as possible and I'm certainly not out to make anyone uncomfortable.

“You looking for someone, Steve?”

Steve nearly chokes on his beer. He flips his gaze back to Sam and Maria and feels the weight of their playful accusation as soon as he catches their eyes. Out on the dancefloor, Tony and Pepper are moving perfectly in sync to the song that’s playing. It must be fast, given the way they’re dancing, but Steve really isn’t paying attention. He could always say he’s watching them, over there, but no one’ll believe that.

“No. I’m just… I’m looking around. S’all.”

Both of them give him the stink eye. Cause that didn’t even come out sounding the slightest bit believable. Even if it _is_ somewhat true. Steve’s not _actually_ looking for anyone. He has no idea if Bucky’ll show up here. He’s not supposed to be here anyway. Not legally. But this is, afterall, the first place Steve ever laid eyes on him.

“Right.” Sam scoffs. Makes a small laugh in the back of his throat and tosses his arm around Maria’s shoulders. “So you’re not on the lookout for whoever gave you all them hickies?” 

Pink hugs his cheeks. So much for nonchalance. Steve’s hand twitches and almost reaches up to the spots Sam’s referring to. He’s been brushing his fingers across those fading marks over the past two days. None of them were nearly as dark or prominent as the one he made on Bucky, but they’re there. And clearly still visible enough for other’s to notice. 

“No.” He lies softly. “That was nothing.”

Maria laughs. She shakes her head, taking a quick swig of her beer and holds two fingers up.

“Second time you’ve shown up with fun little markings though.” She remarks.” More than one person then? Or have you found a hook up buddy?”

Sam’s expression turns curious and amused as if he hadn’t considered either of those options. Leave it to the cop narrow that down. 

Steve groans. Rubs hands over his face and leaves them smothering his mouth when he answers. 

“It’s not what you think. I swear.”

The hand on his shoulder jostles him enough that his face comes free from where he’s got it hidden. He looks over at Sam, who appears quite happy at this turn of events. Steve grunts and tosses his head back.

“What?” Sam laughs. “I didn’t say anything.”

“I know what you’re thinking! It’s nothing!”

“Come on, Steve!” He chuckles. “First time you’ve been around in a decade and you’re dodging? Who are they?”

Steve sighs. He snatches up his glass and chugs what’s left of his beer before rising to his feet.  
Giving them a salute, he says, “I’m getting another drink.”

“Oh! Nice evade!” Maria shouts after him. 

He sticks his hand up in the air to acknowledge her compliment as he makes his way through the crowd and up to the bar. As much as Steve hates not giving his friends at least a _little_ bit of information to work with, he just can’t see how he can do that. Not with this anyway. No matter what he says Steve’s going to be lying about something. 

There’s not just a hook up. There’s no dating involved. Not seeing someone. They didn’t meet at school or the bar and strike up a conversation. Hit it off and one thing led to another. Steve is paying for Bucky’s company. Plain and simple. 

Yet, Steve feels more whole and complete when he’s with the damn kid than he’s felt in years. This twenty year old who pretty much has him wrapped around his finger. If Bucky showed up right now and gave Steve that wicked grin of his, Steve knows damn well he’d be shelling out however much the kid wanted for the night just to get some time with him. Steve doesn’t know if that makes him pathetic and desperate or something else altogether. 

Fingers touching the marks again, Steve wonders if maybe Bucky’s doing the same. Like he had the other night when he proclaimed to still be Steve’s. Doubtful. Steve’s mark isn’t special as much he wishes it was. Just another to the collection of people who’ve paid to add them. 

“Steve?”

The sound of his name pulls him away from thoughts of Bucky and back into the loud, crowded bar. There’s a pretty blonde next to him. Smiling softly. 

“Yeah?”

She chuckles a little.

“You don’t recognize me, do you?”

Steve blinks. Rattles his head and takes a deep breath. Yes, he does actually. 

“Sharon, right?” He clarifies. “From English?”

“Oh you _do_ know me.” She laughs. “I was worried maybe you’d think I was just a life model decoy or something.”

He laughs at the comic book reference. Not all that many people would remember that from back in the day. Sharon must at least be near his age. 

“So, Sharon, have you started your paper yet?”

She grunts and rolls her eyes. Steve has to hold back a laugh. The first day of classes, they were all assigned authors and a book to read by them for a paper due in lieu of a final exam. 

“I got Salinger.” She grumbles. “I _hate_ The Catcher in the Rye.”

Steve laughs. “I don’t like it either. I mean, I used to. But… now…”

“He’s a spoiled brat, right?”

“Yes!” Steve exclaims. “I mean, I feel bad for him, of course, Holden’s definitely got reasons to be upset, but he has this elitist, asshole attitude towards everyone. And what’s his deal with movies?”

“I know! I love movies!”

“So do I! I didn’t realize that made me a phony. Seriously, even when I read that in high school it kinda made me feel bad about myself.”

“Oh, thank God.” Sharon wipes the back of her hand across her forehead like she’s been sweating this out for years. “I thought I was the only one.” She smiles and giggles a little. “So what about you? Who did you get, Steve?”

“Oh, I have H.G. Wells. The Time Machine.”

Her mouth falls open and she sighs as she turns back to the bar. Sharon gives him a playful, dirty look. Lips pursed and eyes narrowed.

“I think maybe there’s some conspiracy going on. How come _you_ get my favorite book?”

Before he can answer that, the bartender puts a drink down in front of Sharon. Sharon is fishing into her pocket, for money presumably. 

“Hey, I… I got it…” Steve offers. “If, y’know, you don’t… if that’s okay. If you want.” He’s reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. Slowly. Just in case she says no. It’s only occurring to Steve now that maybe he should be nervous. “Maybe make up for landing your favorite book?”

Sharon laughs again. Steve likes her laugh. And her smile. It make her eyes shine. 

“Sure. But I get the next round.”

“Deal.”

They both sit down at the stools in front of them and Steve happens to glance over at the same time she glances at him. Sharing a quick smile, his stomach clenches pleasantly. It’s been a long time since he’s done something like this.

“So, Steve, what’re you majoring in?”

“Oh, um, art.”

“Really? You’re an artist?”

Steve hesitates briefly, waiting for the next obvious question. The one he and Bucky discussed the other day. _Do you want to be a teacher?_ But Sharon doesn’t ask it. Instead, she sits and waits for Steve to answer.

“I… well I wouldn’t put it that way.” He says. “I guess. I want to be.”

“What’d you do? Draw? Paint? Sculpt?” 

“Draw. I paint a bit, too, but I stick to sketching. I made some decent money out in California. Got commissions and stuff, but I really wanted to make something of a name for myself.”

“California?”

“Uh, yeah. I moved there right after high school. Tried to make it on my art. Didn’t do as well as I hoped.”

“Starving artist, huh?” She teases. 

Added hand on his arm and a quick wink to let him know she’s only playing. Steve laughs and takes a drink. 

“Am I a walking cliche?”

“Not too bad. No worse than me.”

“And what about you? What are you majoring in?”

“Criminal law.”

That… well that doesn’t sound cliche at all. Steve pulls his eyebrows in and tilts his head.

“How is that cliche?”

“Well, that part isn’t. I guess the part where I got married just a year out of high school and worked various office jobs while we tried to support ourselves as he went to law school.”

Steve tucks his chin in and rubs his nose. The bar doesn’t give him any encouragement as he tries to come up with something to say to that.

“Um, are you still married?”

Sharon laughs.

“Oh no. We split last year.” She holds up her left hand. Ring finger free. “Still friends and all. We rushed into things really. Dunno what I was thinking. So now I’m a twenty-five year old divorcee just starting college.”

“Ah a kindred spirit. Well, not the divorce part. I mean… I never got married at all. I just…” Steve sighs. “I just meant that I just started school, too. After not going after high school.”

Holding up her drink, Sharon offers it in toast, along with a smirk and not a word about Steve’s bumbling.

It’s pretty easy to talk to her. She’s open and friendly and cracks Steve up the minute she tells Tony to cut the shit when he comes over asking if she’s the one Steve’s hooking up with. Tony ends up stalking away with his tail between his legs. Sharon ends up getting a thumb’s up from Pepper a few minutes later. 

Turns out Sharon’s studying criminal law with the hopes of joining the FBI. She speaks two other languages--Spanish and German--and is apparently a skilled ballroom dancer. 

“You should come dancing with me some time.”

Steve laughs, some of his beer spilling back into the glass. He coughs a bit and sets the glass aside.

“I don’t think so. I leave the dancing to the people who have both a right foot and a left foot.”

“Ah. That’s too bad. Maybe we can find something else to do.”

“I… oh… oh…” Steve bites back his smile. Realizes that Sharon might actually want to see him again. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

They spend most of the night together. Their friends mingle a bit. Sharon enjoys speaking with Maria about being on the force and Steve meets her friends Gabe and Tim. Nice guys.

The night ends up being lots of fun. Plenty of chatter, greasy food, loud laughter, enough drinks to get Steve up on the dance floor. But even as they leave, Steve can’t help taking one last glance around. Just in case Bucky happens to be there somewhere. 

***

Come Monday, Steve finds himself nervous again. He spends nearly an hour changing into several different outfits just for something to do. He’s being ridiculous and he knows that. Bucky’s already proven that he’s a professional. Nothing needs to be awkward. Just like it really wasn’t that first time around. 

Steve keeps reminding himself that he’s done nothing wrong. Okay, so maybe he’s ignoring that whole ‘you’re-not-supposed-to-pay-for-sex’ law. But they’re not hurting anyone. And Bucky seems to enjoy what he does. Not to mention the fact that he’s incredibly good at it. Steve, well, Steve’s already counting down the days till Thursday already. He’ll never hurt Bucky, not in ways Bucky doesn’t at least enjoy. 

Over the weekend, Steve did some research on sex workers’ rights, even signed some online petitions to decriminalize the position. He had to turn the computer off when reading about all the violence and harassment that’s faced, even by law enforcement. Cops, the very people meant to serve and protect. Steve’s not naive enough to believe that all cops are the saving grace some make them out to be, but the thought of Bucky going to one for help and instead being coerced into something he didn’t want to do… it just made him sick. All he could think about was Bucky and his safety. 

Giving up trying to calm his nerves by means of outfit changing, Steve gathers his things and heads for school. He gets there earlier than he planned. Which isn’t a bad thing since he skipped breakfast in his desperate attempt to soothe himself. The morning hours usually find the student center pretty empty. Proves true again today and Steve’s able to get himself a comfortable little table right in the corner of the room. 

Early morning sun’s pouring through the big windows. Hitting Steve right in the back and soaking the entire room with yellow light. He picks a bit at his muffin, sips a cup of coffee and sketches a bit. From memory. 

He doesn’t even realize he drawing his mother until the eyes start to take shape. They look out at him. Warm and loving. No. Empty and blank. No matter how hard he tries to capture those soft blue eyes, the ones that shined when she sang to him through bed ridden illnesses and a sickly childhood, they’re never right. He never does her justice. Steve’s hand trembles and he rips the page out. Crumples it up and tosses it into the nearest garbage can. 

Sighing, Steve wonders if it’ll be completely detrimental to his GPA if he takes one day to himself. He’s not quite sure what’s put him in such a sour mood. For the first time since he’s gotten back, Steve is actually looking forward to something. Concise plans. Bucky is coming over Thursday. And Steve’s excited about that. Yet there’s still something weighing him down today and he can’t quite point out what that is. 

When he hears a familiar voice, Steve looks up to find the source of it. Bucky’s walking through the quiet room, talking--maybe arguing--on the phone. Steve smiles upon seeing him. And therein lies Steve’s problem. He likes this kid. Wants to get to know him. Be his friend. But he’s not Bucky’s friend. Which is why Bucky’s never warmed up to him the way he does every other Tom, Dick and Harry that he comes across. Steve is, first and foremost, his client, and Bucky doesn’t mix business and pleasure; that much is obvious. 

Bucky happens to stop just a few feet away from where Steve is seated. He looks tired. There’s no act going on at the moment. He’s not with any friends and Steve’s actually catching a rare glimpse into Bucky’s private world. He should turn away, not pay any attention, but Steve doesn’t.

“Please, just tell me how much you need.” Bucky says to whoever he’s speaking to. “I’ll get it for you.” 

There’s a pause, probably to let whoever’s on the other end answer. Bucky sighs and rubs his eyes.

“No, Ma, I’m not selling drugs.” He sighs and rolls his eyes. “Just trust me, okay? I haven’t let you down yet, have I? You and Becky need the money. Just lemme…” Bucky pauses again. He crushes his jaw and the grip around the phone tightens. “Come on, Ma!”

Steve tries to drown out the rest of Bucky’s conversation with thoughts of his own. He has no right to listen in. Didn’t have a right to listen to any of it. He’s only chatting a few moments longer before he gives up whatever argument with his mother he’s having and hangs up. 

Bucky stands there silently for a moment. His face contorts like he either wants to huff or scream. 

“Bucky?”

The name just comes off Steve’s lips. An instinctive desire to reach out and help someone who might need it. 

He glances over. Seems completely shocked that he’s found himself in a room with other people. His expression smooths quickly, and Bucky fixes a smirk on his lips. Fake. All part of his facade. 

“Hey, Steve.” He greets. Presses down on his lip at the end of Steve’s name. “How’s it going?”

“Are you okay?”

His eyebrows pull in. Confusion looks out at Steve through Bucky’s steel-blue eyes. As though Steve asking about his well-being is preposterous. 

“I’m fine.”

Bucky’s voice comes out sharp. Almost like he’s snapping at Steve, but not quite there yet.

“Right.” Steve answers. Stays cool as he keeps in mind he’s the one guilty of eavesdropping. “Conversation just sounded a little… intense.”

Lashes blink over his eyes and Bucky just stares for a moment before glancing down at the phone still in his hand. When he looks back up at Steve his face is hard.

“ _Jesus_ , Steve,” He grunts. This time reaching that full blown snap. “What’re you listening to my conversation?”

Steve flicks his eyebrows up.

“Over _hearing_ is more accurate.”

“Maybe you should mind your own _fucking_ business instead of _overhearing_.” He scoffs and goes on, his eyes hard and jaw crushed, "For fuck's sake, who the fuck do you think you are?" 

When Bucky opens his mouth to say something else, Steve says, “You can _go_ now.”

Eyes going wide, Bucky’s jaw falls just enough that he might gasp, though Steve can’t really tell. Doesn’t look like Bucky really _knows_ what to do. But Steve’ll be damned if he’s about to let him take his bad day or mood or whatever out on him. Sure, Steve may have listened in a bit on his conversation, but there’s no reason for him to snap at him like that.

“I…”

“No, no.” Steve shakes his head, holding a hand out to stop him. “If you’re gonna talk to me that way, we’re done now.”

This time, the shock that washes across Bucky’s face is obvious. Still no show. At least, Steve doesn’t think so. His lips move about a bit, maybe trying to form a few words though nothing comes out. He stands there for a minute, looks like he’s still not sure what to do, before turning around and going back the way he came. 

The whole thing hangs over Steve’s head the entire day. A little black rain cloud that follows him around from class to class. That harsh, sharp way Bucky spoke to him, the way his face fell when Steve told him to leave, it shoves a pit in his stomach that seems to grow larger and larger. It makes it hard to concentrate and seems to add several hours to the day.

By the time Steve’s heading to Bio, his shoes feel like lead. Bookbag is twice as heavy and the start of a headache is beginning to creep in. He’s grateful to show up first. Better able to prepare for when Bucky does come in. Which he does a few minutes after Steve settles down at their table.

He comes waltzing in with that million dollar grin on his face. One notebook hangs loosely in his hand, pens in his pocket. No matter how many or little notes he takes during class, it never matters. Every quiz they’ve taken winds up with him acing it. Bucky’s chatting with one of their classmates. Guy by the name of Jim Morita. Who’s flirting quite shamelessly with Bucky as they walk. Even more so when Bucky leans up against the edge of the desk Jim occupies. 

Jim laughs at something Bucky says. They’re about the same height, but Bucky’s got his elbows resting on the desktop so he happens to be peering up at him. They exchange a few more words and it sounds as though Bucky’s teasing Jim about something. To which Jim retaliates by jostling him by the shoulder and he ends up with his hand resting lightly on Bucky’s waist. 

Steve’s starting to suspect that maybe he’s a bit of a masochist. There’s really no other explanation to why he’d be putting himself through such torture. No other reason to be watching Bucky flirt on and on with Jim and move along with his day like what happened between he and Steve means nothing. 

When Jim finally takes his seat, Bucky pats his shoulder before leaving and moving over to their table. He scoots behind Steve and drops his book down on desk. As he makes himself comfortable, sliding the stool forward a bit, rearranging his body this way and that, he actually nudges Steve with his elbow. Pointedly. Enough to get Steve’s attention. 

“Hey, narc,” He says. Voice happy and carefree. “How’s your day?”

Steve glances over at him. Bucky’s chin is resting in his hand. He’s got his head tilted just enough to be noticed. 

“What?” Steve asks.

This is the first time Bucky’s ever really greeted him at all when coming into class. Steve’s gotten a nod, a smile here or there, but never this much familiarity.

“Hard of hearin’, are ya, grandpa?” He chuckles. “M’just askin’ how your day’s gone.”

Steve can only blink at him. He rattles his head and sighs.

“No.”

Bucky lifts his chin out of his hand. Face crinkled, he looks the most confused Steve’s ever seen him.

“No?”

“No.” Steve repeats. “You don’t get to talk to me the way you did earlier and then come in acting like everything is fine.”

When Bucky scoffs a chuckle, even rolls his eyes a little, Steve turns away from him. 

“Oh come on.” Bucky snickers again. “You can’t…”

“I can and I will.” Steve says as he opens his book. Professor Grey’s just walked in. “You do not get to treat me like that, Bucky.”

Now that Professor Grey is there and immediately starting the class, it gives Bucky no means to go any further. Steve can feel his eyes on him though. He takes a quick peek over at him to find his gaze almost helpless and lost. Bucky twists his lips and slowly turns to face forward when Professor Grey comes down each row to hand out this day’s quiz. 

Steve doesn’t permit himself even a moment’s glance the entire time they sit there. He wants to. Pretty badly. Bucky’s not his usual self. He’s not stretched out over the desk or sitting with that normal air of ease around him. Today he’s stiff and rigid. Seems to be paying extra attention to what’s going on in class and taking down more notes than Steve’s ever seen. 

At the ninety minute mark, Professor Grey interrupts her enthralling lesson on cellular oxidation of glucose for their normal fifteen minute break. Steve stands without a word and heads out to go visit the vending machine. He might hear Bucky make a small sound before he leaves, but he doesn’t stick around to find out.

Steve needs to shake the machine to get his Twix to fall from the evil clutches of the jaws that try to keep it in there. He opts to eat it there in the quiet hall instead of going back to the classroom. His masochistic tendencies have faded for the day and if Bucky’s up and flirting with Jim again Steve has no desire to see it. 

He gobbles the candy up quickly and then just stands in front of the vending machine. This is something Steve hates. The tension’s that’s slowly building between he and Bucky. Sure, Steve could always just let it go. Let bygones be bygones. But he needs to stick to his guns on this. He’s not Bucky’s punching bag. He won’t be anyone’s punching bag. Not ever again. Not after too many years of being too small and skinny to really fight back against those who sought out an easy target. When he became an even easier target when all he tried to do was stand up for others. His only line of defense to keep getting back up, hold his own until someone swooped in and helped. 

No. Steve’ll never be that person again. Metaphorically or otherwise. It doesn’t matter how tense things get with Bucky. No one is going to step on him. 

Still, when Steve pushes away from the machine, he gets a plain Hershey bar and slides it in his pocket before heading back to the classroom. 

On his way, he spots Bucky through the glass doors that lead outside. There’s a cigarette between his fingers and someone’s got their arms wrapped around him. It’s his friend, that one Steve sometimes sees with him and Nat. He’s saying something to Bucky and Bucky’s nodding, his face pinched like he’s holding in some strong emotion. 

As Steve gets closer to the room, and, as a result, closer to those doors that Bucky’s right on the other side of, Bucky happens to look up. He sees Steve right away. Lips quirking up in some attempt at throwing him a crooked grin, his hand lifts in a hesitant wave. 

Steve just walks into the classroom. 

The rest of the class drags on. Steve is really ready to call it quits and just crawl into bed for the rest of the week. Monday’s that start like this never bode well for the days that follow. 

Steve feels like that rain cloud over his head has officially burst. It’s now trickling cold drops of water down on him. Soaking into his body. Wet and uncomfortable. For a minute or two, he considers calling Sam on his way home. Maybe he wouldn’t mind stopping by for a bit. Steve can’t really give him all the details of course, but it’d be nice to just not go home and be alone. 

Then he remembers that Sam’s gone for the week. A trip to D.C. as the unofficial spokesperson for the local V.A. and trying to get better funding, which they could really use. Tony’d come over if Steve really asked him to, but he’s in Manhattan and Steve would rather Sam. Rhodey’s been back at Quantico since a week after Steve saw him last and Bruce has been taking overnight shifts at the hospital he works at. Says it keeps him calmer than working during the day. Since Betty’s teaching at Colver University, Steve can’t imagine how busy she is. There’s always Carol but… well fuck, Steve really just kinda wants Sam. 

Actually, what he really wants is for the air to be clear. For this sinking feeling inside of him to just go away. There’s just no need for it. 

“Um… Steve?”

He hears Bucky’s voice break through his thoughts at the very end of class. It’s soft, careful. Guarded like maybe he’s not sure if he should be talking at all. Steve continues getting his things ready to leave for the day as everyone else makes their way out of the room. 

“What is it, Bucky?”

“Uh, so I was talkin’ to my buddy, Clint, and, well…” Bucky trails off and when he does Steve glances over at him. Eyebrows lift and he nods for Bucky to go on, “Yeah, so he said that maybe I should apologize for yellin’ at you before.”

“Ah.” Steve huffs through an irritated smirk. “So, you’re apologizing because Clint Barton thinks you should?”

“How… how’d you know his last…”

“It’s the name on your fake id. Put two and two together. Is that really why you’re apologizing?” Steve asks. “Because your _friend_ thinks you should?”

Bucky leans forward. Elbows on his knees and lets his head hang a bit. Fingers run through his hair and he peers up at Steve.

“No. I’m agologizin’ cause I wanna. Cause I feel bad for yellin’ at ya.”

“Bucky, I’m a grown up.” He licks his teeth when Bucky’s eyebrows stitch. “I’m not mad because you _yelled_ at me. You’re not the first person to yell at me and I’m sure you won’t be the last.” 

Lifting his head, Bucky twists his lips. Looks like he’s trying to think long and hard about something. His mouth opens not once, but twice before he snaps it closed and rattles his head. He must looking for a way to apologize for upsetting Steve, but he’s not sure how to do that.

“You wanna throw me a bone here?” He whines. “I’m sorta drowning.”

Steve can’t help the chuckle that bubbles up through him. There’s something humorous about this right now. About Bucky actually struggling in front of him, trying to figure out what to do when he almost _always_ knows what to do.

“I see that.” Steve smirks at him. “I’m kinda liking it.”

Bucky’s head drops back down with a scoff. Now that he knows Steve’s loosened up a bit, he, too, seems a bit more like himself. Well, at least the Bucky Steve’s used to. 

When he looks back up, a breath catches in Steve’s throat. Charm’s been switched on. In just one look. The way those eyes shine and twinkle, his lips now moist and parted just enough that Steve can see it. He gets up off the stool and moves smoothly, fluid, water over a rock, to sit up on the table. Right in front of Steve. Close enough that Steve needs to keep his back tight and straight in order to not let his head dip into Bucky’s chest.

His legs spread open and Bucky runs his foot along the outside Steve’s ankle. Bucky’s fingers trail up Steve’s arms, inching their way under his sleeves. 

“Come on, Stevie,” He murmurs. Voice rich with wild desires. “Tell me what to do, would ya?”

Somehow, though he’s not quite sure where any of the strength comes from, Steve manages to hold his resolve. Only this proves to make Bucky even _more_ determined to make amends in his own sort of way and he slips off the desktop. Right onto Steve’s lap. Legs straddled around him, Bucky immediately goes for Steve’s sweet spot. Presses kisses right into the soft skin of his neck.

“Please, Steve?” He’s got his voice almost high pitched. Innocent and sweet. “Won’t you tell your Bucky why you’re mad? And how to make it better?”

 _His_ Bucky. Shit if that doesn’t drive Steve over the edge then nothing ever will. Steve groans just as the sound of it. 

Unable to help himself, not with this perfect fucking body wrapped around him, empty classroom, but for who knows how long, Steve ties his arms around Bucky’s waist and yanks him closer. It doesn’t help at _all_ with the erection popping up and hard, but it _does_ make Bucky moan.

“You can’t…” He needs to suck in a rough breath, “figure it out?”

Bucky tugs the collar of Steve’s shirt down and lets his tongue glide across his Adam’s apple. Steve tilts his head back in response. Hips moving up and Bucky grinding into him.

“Maybe… cause I was a dickhead?” He offers just above a whisper as he feathers kisses up Steve’s throat. “And I’m sorry that I was a dickhead.”

“Mmm,” Steve breathes out through pursed lips. “That’s… better. And not just cause your friend said so?”

His head shakes as he sucks gingerly on his collarbone. Says, _mm-mm_ , and nips just a bit at Steve’s skin.

“Don’t talk to me like that, Bucky. I’m not here to take that from you.”

Bucky moves back up and cups Steve’s cheeks in both his hands. He kisses him once on the lips and then on each cheek.

“I know. You’ve done nothin’ but treat me good. I got no right to take my bad mood out on you. I’d hate to lose my favorite customer cause I acted like a d-bag.”

Steve backs his head up. Can’t help the little grin that twitches up on his lips. 

“What?” Bucky asks.

“Favorite customer, huh?”

He rolls his eyes at that and moves back in for that spot on Steve’s neck again. Bucky gets a bit more aggressive and sucks hard enough that Steve can feel the mark blossoming on his skin already.

“Am I forgiven then?” He drawls, lips still against Steve, “Sir?”

The only thing Steve can get out is a moan, followed by a nod of his head. After another moment, he manages to get a verbal answer to come out of his mouth. It’s nothing more than a quiet _Yes. Yes, yes_ , but Bucky gets it. 

He snickers and then slowly climbs off of Steve’s lap. Adds another messy kiss to Steve’s cheek and picks up his book, knocking his pen over.

“To be continued when you shell out what it’s worth.” He teases. 

The second he leans down to pick the pen up, Steve doesn’t hesitate. He barely even registers what he’s about to do until after he does it. Slaps his hand right across the open target he’s presented. 

Bucky shoots back up and whirls around. Face scandalized and surprised and he lets out a laugh when Steve shrugs. 

“No fair,” He whines as he rubs his ass. “Still got bruises there from last time.”

“You didn’t seem to mind.” Steve points out. “Did you? My good boy?”

The blush comes on quickly and Bucky shifts his weight from foot to foot. He might even whimper a bit under his breath. Doing what he just did on top of Steve didn’t cause nearly as much of a response.

“I…” He exhales long and soft. “I didn’t. But, just so ya know, Steve, I am sorry. For real. For today.”

“I know.” Steve brushes his knuckles across Bucky’s arm. “Apology accepted.”

“So, you, uh, you still want me to come over Thursday, right?”

To be honest, Steve never even considered cancelling on him. The thought is pretty disheartening. And it looks as though it might be for Bucky as well.

“Yeah, I still want you over.” 

“Course ya do.” He runs his fingers through his hair and licks his lips as he turns to leave. “How could you ever resist your precious Bucky?”

How indeed?

“Hey, Bucky!” Steve calls out and is tossing him the extra candy bar he got earlier before he even fully turns. 

Bucky’s surprised, but he manages to catch it just before it hits his face. When he realizes what he’s caught he gives Steve the most adorable grin he’s ever seen. 

“This is for me?”

“Be a good boy and maybe I’ll get you more.”

Pressing the end of the candy bar to his lips, he holds in another smile before ducking his head down. Bucky chuckles softly and gives Steve a lazy salute as he turns and finally leaves. 

Steve gets himself somewhat settled before he heads home. Dashes into the shower and needs to jerk off while in there. Shouting Bucky’s name as he comes. 

***

It’s safe to say that Bucky does not make the Wednesday before his visit easy. The entire lab Steve basically spends trying to think about things like baseball and puppies and grass and absolutely anything that’s not sexy. All of which include _not_ paying close attention to the way Bucky keeps sucking on the top of his pen or casually reaching out and brushing his fingers along Steve’s thigh. 

For the first time since they started class together, Bucky’s behavior reflects that of when they’re together in private. Well, sort of. Whatever public decency will allow. Since it’s a lab and they’re able to talk while they work, he continuously lets little suggestive remarks slide out.

Things like, _My ass finally ain’t so bruised. Kinda miss it though_ and _Been thinking about your hands all over me, y’know._

“Bucky,” Steve sighs. And secretly doesn’t want him to stop. He might be at Bucky’s mercy through all of this, but he’s completely soaking up all this extra attention from him. “We’re supposed to get this done.”

Bucky whines and makes this disgruntled kind of expression. As though having to put forth any energy into actually _doing_ the labs is the worst thing that needs to be done. With a sigh, he starts pouring the solvent they need to use for the lab into the cylinder. 

“Only 5 ml of that,” Steve says as Bucky pours.

“Yeah, yeah. I got it.” He huffs a bit. Looks entirely bored. “The answer to the first question is because of the chlorophyll, by the way.”

“Wait…” Steve runs over the first question on the lab. “How’d you… we haven’t even done the experiment yet.”

“I know. I just know the answer. And the second one is in the fall when the chlorophyll is active.”

Steve glances over to see that several of the questions on Bucky’s page are already filled in. He can’t help but chuckle.

“You know, Buck, if you sat still and concentrated a little more, maybe we could get this done quicker.” He points out. “Considering you’ve gotten a bunch done already.”

“Mmm,” He hums, but drops his head down in his arms folded on the table. “But I’m _bored_.”

“You’re being a brat today, Bucky.” Steve teases. Desperately trying to keep from being so obviously turned on. Not an easy task when faced with this kid and all his allure.

“Yeah but…” Bucky holds a finger up with his face still smothered in his arms. “You know you like it.”

Steve snickers and pokes him with the end of his pen. It makes Bucky jerk up with a yelp loud enough that a few people around them look over.

“Stop being a brat and do your work.”

The pout Bucky gives him is enough to melt Steve’s heart. That look on Bucky could probably convince him to commit murder. Instead of giving in, oh but how easy it’d be to just give in and flirt and touch and disregard the work that needs to be done, he reaches into his bag and pulls out a bag of assorted chocolates. 

Bucky’s eyes go wide, his mouth practically salivating just at the sight of them. 

“More for me?” He asks. 

“Maybe. If you behave and do your work.”

He gets a roll of the eyes, but the promise of chocolate works for a little bit. Enough that they get more than halfway through the lab before he starts in again. 

“ _Bucky_!” Steve scolds when that hand of his happens to wander across the back of Steve’s neck. Unable to keep the laugh in. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Bucky chuckles. “I’ll be good.”

He is, too, after that. Bucky helps Steve with the lab, they work through it, answer the questions, and Bucky eyes the bag of chocolate the entire time. Throws little glances Steve’s way every now and then, usually after a particularly helpful action. 

“Here you go.” Steve says when they’re finished with the lab and allowed to leave for the day. He’s just dropped two pieces of candy into Bucky’s open palm. “For you.”

“ _What_?” Bucky nearly shrieks. “That’s _all_ I get? After being so well-behaved?”

“ _Your_ definition of well-behaved.” Steve pinches his cheek. “There’s more where that comes from anyway.”

“You’re mean. Did anyone ever tell you that?”

“From time to time.” He replies as he puts his things into his bookbag. “Am I still your favorite?”

“Hm.” Bucky stands, notebook tucked under his arm. “I suppose I’ll answer that after we see how you do tomorrow. Eight o’clock, right?”

“Eight’s good.”

He’s walking towards the exit when he says, “You gonna cook for me again?”

“I might.” 

Steve’s already considered what he could make for the two of them. So far he’s narrowed it down to either hamburgers or chicken cutlets.

“I don’t like pork!” Bucky calls as he goes through the door to leave. 

Steve laughs to himself and realizes it’s actually safe for him to leave. Or maybe he needs a minute. Either way he knows what he’ll be doing when he gets home. 

***

**Bucky: Are you cooking for me or what?**

Steve’s been at the kitchen counter for approximately ten minutes when he gets the text. Slicing up chicken breasts since he’s decided on cutlets for the evening. He finishes what he’s doing, breads the slices, then washes his hands quick before shooting back an answer.

**Steve: I’m cooking. If you’re hungry when you get here maybe you’ll get some.**

He leaves his phone by the sink as he starts tossing the cutlets into a frying pan. There’s a box of instant fettuccine alfredo that he’ll thrown on in a little bit. Today, Steve’s got a much more definitive plan for what he’d like to happen when Bucky gets here. 

Last night, Steve went online and made his own checklist of activities that they could go over together. Now that it’s pretty clear he’s going to be seeing Bucky weekly, he wants to know as many of his preferences as he can get out of him from just a basic checklist of sorts. He already knows he likes being spanked. Bucky’s mentioned liking things being a little rough and being bossed around. Seemed excited by the prospect of Steve tying him up. He doesn’t like being hit in the face and being called names. 

There’s so much more though. So many things they could explore together. Some of which Steve’s participated in--he has quite the taste and knack for shibari and can’t help drooling over thoughts of his ropes tied intricately around Bucky’s beautiful body, Bucky kneeling and letting him sketch his handy work. Others, Steve’s curious about and would love to try with him. Then things he’s never really considered, but might try for Bucky’s sake if he’d like to give them a go. Still some that Steve would never do. Knife play for instance. Steve can never imagine bringing a blade across anyone’s skin. Ever. He’s already crossed those off the list.

His phone going off again startles Steve this time. He’s just started the water for the pasta and sees Bucky name popping up on his screen.

**Bucky: Y’know 4 a grandpa narc ur kinda awesome.**

Steve laughs. It’s just about 7:30. Bucky’ll be here in thirty minutes. Probably just in time for the food to be eaten. He glances out the window. Snow’s still coming down from the thick dark clouds. Soft flakes that coat the ground lightly like it’s been doing on and off all day. Early this year. It’s not even November yet and it’s snowing.

**Steve: I don’t know if i should thank you or spank you for that.**

**Bucky: Both? ^.^**

**Steve: Someone’s being greedy today.**

**Bucky: you love it. see u at 8**

**Steve: K. Bundle up tonight it’s cold**

Since Steve’s not as nervous as he’d been last week, he’s been able to manage his time better since getting home. He’s already showered and he cleaned up last night. So when the knock on the door--just a few taps this time--sounds out when he’s in the middle of putting the chicken on a platter, he feels a bit more prepared.

That, however, does not stop him from needing a second to take in a few deep breaths when he gets to the door. His hand _does_ tremble when he reaches for the knob. It has nothing to do with nerves this time. 

“Hey there, Steve.” Bucky greets with that saucy smirk pulled up on his lips. 

Snow covers the top of Bucky’s head, catching the light and sparkling with it tilted a tad in Steve’s direction. He’s wrapped up in a thick black jacket--thicker than Steve’s seen him wear at school--smooth leather and lined with wool that even trims the collared flaps. There’s a scarf peeking through underneath, right at the last oversized button.

“Hi, Bucky.” Steve needs to remember to breathe. God this kid is so damn beautiful. “Come on in.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” He steps in and rubs his hands together before unbuttoning his jacket. Steve goes to take it from him. “Mmm. Such a gentleman.”

As Steve takes his jacket, their fingers brush together. The chill that hits him upon the contact is unexpected though it hardly should be. Bucky’s hands are completely bare.

“Didn’t I tell you to bundle up?” Steve reminds him.

Bucky pauses taking his scarf off to stare at him. Bewildered, probably, at the sudden reprimanding tone.

“But I… I did?”

“Yeah?” Steve takes the scarf from him and tosses it up to hang over his jacket. He takes Bucky’s hands in his to warm them. Even brings them to his lips and blows his hot breath across the frigid skin. “You have no gloves then? Your hands are freezing.”

“No, I have… I have gloves. I just…”

“Didn’t wear them? Or a hat?” He runs his hand over Bucky’s hair and shakes the bit of leftover snow out of it. “Hm?”

“It’s not _that_ far from my place to here.”

“Far enough for you to get this cold.” He takes in Bucky’s bright pink cheeks and ears. Presses his hands up against both to warm them as well. “Come closer.” He requests and Bucky steps forward. “Is this okay? Can I warm you up?”

“Mhm.” He nuzzles his nose against Steve’s chest. “Keep tellin’ ya. You’re payin’.”

“Haven’t paid you yet though. So, I mean…”

“Oh.” Bucky backs away as though he’s forgotten in the moment that he’s here on a job. “I guess that’s true.” He holds his hand out and smirks. “If you don’t mind.”

Steve reaches into his back pocket where he has three hundred dollar bills all prepared for him. He hands them over to Bucky who stuffs them in his own front pocket. 

“Alrighty,” Bucky kicks his boots off and steps back up to Steve. “Now that we got all that outta the way…” He slips his fingers into the loops of Steve’s pants to pull him closer, “Bucky’s all yours for the next four hours. Where’d ya’ want me, sir?”

Steve kisses his forehead. Heart pounding and breaths caught. All his. He looks down at him and tucks hair behind Bucky’s ear.

“Say it again.” He breathes.

It only takes Bucky a second to understand. When he does he folds his lips in and sweeps his eyes up.

“I’m all yours, sir.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Steve gently takes hold of his hand and tows him towards the kitchen.

“Come on. Dinner first. Then we’ll talk.”

“Talk?” Bucky chuckles. “Is that why you’ve paid me three hundred dollars?”

“Maybe.” Steve pulls out a chair. “Sit. And stop being a wise ass.”

Bucky huffs and pushes his lower lip out. “You like when I’m a wise ass. What’re we having?”

“Chicken cutlets.” The platter is on the counter and Steve puts a piece on a plate. Scoops a bit of pasta on next. “Unless you’d rather some ramen noodles?”

He holds the plate away like he might not give it over to Bucky. That makes Bucky laugh and give a _please, Steve?_ As with the pasta from last week, Bucky dives right in. Tells Steve how much he misses home cooking.

“Did you grow up around here?” Steve wonders.

“Yeah, or, well, Brooklyn anyway. Bensonhurst. At least, that was until high school. Moved to Long Island right before tenth grade.”

“Oh yeah? Was that hard?” Steve asks. “Moving at that age? Starting a new school?”

“Um, no, not really. I’ve always been a people person.” He winks at Steve. “Never been that hard to make friends. That’s why I wanted Mom to go then. Cause my sister was nine and it was better to make a move then instead of later. For her I mean.”

Steve’s not sure which part to react to first. The fact that Bucky seems to have no hang ups at having to move--even, according to him, pushed for the move himself--in the middle of high school or that not only he’s told him this, but didn’t even hide the bit of information about his family. Mom and sister, who he seems pretty protective of. No mention of a dad. Steve wonders if he’s out of the picture.

“Is that where you met your friend? Nat?”

“Yeah. She was my neighbor.” Bucky laughs. Mind brought back somewhere Steve doesn’t know about. “Day we were movin’ in?” He shakes his head with another laugh. “She was out on her front lawn, right? And she’s dancing. Ballet, she’s a ballerina.” He clarifies and shovels more food into his mouth. “But she’s trying to do this move and all and she turns on her foot and stumbles and I was a jackass…”

“Not much has changed.”

Paused with his mouth open, Bucky narrows his eyes at him.

“Hey. Shut up.” He sighs through a smile and goes on. “ _Anyway_. Yeah, so I was a jackass and laughed and know what she did?”

Steve shakes his head. “No. What?”

“She marches right over to me, I got my hands full with this big box and everything, and she _slaps_ me _right_ off the back of the head. Mom saw the whole thing. Said I deserved it. I went over later to apologize. She’s been my best friend ever since.”

“Well, I like this Nat already. Someone needs to knock you down a few pegs every now and then.”

Bucky make an indignant grunt and mumbles something that sounds like _used’ta be me favorite customer_. He takes a drink of his soda, swishes it around in his mouth before swallowing, and then sighs.

“ _Y’kn-oow_ …” He huffs. “I mean…”

“Yes?” Steve snickers. “Do you have something to say?”

He grumbles something else, something through a smirk and a laugh, and then asks, “How about you? Was it hard going to California?”

“Uh, well, yes and no. It was… I mean, at the time,” Mom dead, so fast. Friends moving on with so much hope and light towards their futures. Steve felt so dead inside. “I, uh, I made some good friends. Took a little while, I’m, I guess you could say, not as _confident_ as _some_ people are.”

“Dunno why.” Bucky remarks. “You’re fucking hot and, I mean, kinda sweet and shit.”

Steve feels the blush. His cheeks get hot and he feels that burn go up to the tip of his ears. He tries to clear his throat, finds it too dry and instead gets up to do the dishes. Bucky follows a moment later with his own empty plate. There’s something of a shit-eating-grin on his face. Once his plate is in the sink, Bucky’s wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist and pressing his lips into the spot between Steve’s neck and shoulder. On his toes to reach better. 

“What’s the matter, Stevie,” He murmurs into his skin. “Don’t you like it when I tell you how sexy you are?”

There’s something Steve wants to do. He knows that. Something before he gives into the desires building more and more inside of him. Especially when the tips of Bucky’s fingers start making their way into the top of his pants. 

“No.” Steve moans.

“You don’t then?”

“What?” That’s right. Bucky asked a question. A rhetorical question, wise ass. “No. I meant wait.”

“Wait for what, Stevie?” Bucky’s voice is lower, suggestive. Holding in it all the power to undo Steve at just a few more words. “Clock’s tickin’, y’know. And… I got… another customer to get to when we’re through.”

There’s a quiet chuckle added at the end of his statement, but Steve’s gone cold. He hadn’t realized that Bucky would be seeing someone after him. The thought of it feels wrong. Of someone putting their hands all over him, kissing him, sucking on him, making him forget all that he did with Steve--it’s just not right. 

For some reason, Steve feels betrayed. The emotion is completely illogical. No one said Thursday’s were meant only for them, but Steve, foolishly, thought they were. 

“Hey…” Bucky’s hand cups under Steve’s chin and he turns his face a bit more towards him. “You alright?”

Bucky’s watching him intently as though waiting for something to happen. Like he’s expecting something. There’s nothing Steve can do about it now. If Bucky has another client after him then that’s what he’ll be doing. It’s not like Steve can ask him not see anyone after him. Can’t have Bucky lose out on making money just because he had assumed this day was theirs. 

Steve nods and tries to smile. Must manage a bit since Bucky lets his hand slip away. 

“We have to talk.” Steve murmurs. 

“What’d you call what we just did?”

“Not what we need to do, is what I call it.”

Steve turns around, leaving the rest of the dirty dishes in the sink, and puts a hand around the back of Bucky’s neck. He gives it a squeeze; firm, not hard. It makes Bucky’s eyes close softly. His lips part and Steve can hear the quick inhale. 

“Come on, Bucky. Into the living room.”

Hand still where it is, Steve leads him into the other room and doesn’t let go until he seats himself on the couch. Leave’s Bucky on his feet.

“Okay…” Bucky says. “What’dya wanna talk about?”

Steve reaches over for the papers he printed out earlier. He pats the cushion next to him and hands them over when Bucky sits. Bucky needs only a few seconds to know what he’s looking at.

“For real?” He sighs. “You really want me to…”

“You’re mine for these four hours, aren’t you?” Steve interrupts. “If I want you reading over these then that’s what you’ll do, isn’t it? You’ll be _my_ good boy before you go off to someone else.”

Bucky sucks in a breath like he’s getting ready to answer. Instead of any words coming out he just releases the air in his lungs and goes right back to reading the lists. The tip of the pen gets pressed against his lips in between every few marks he makes. It’s quiet for a few minutes as he goes through the checklist, point by point.

“Are you jealous, Steve?” He asks softly, the pen _in_ his mouth.

He’s not looking up. Still going over the paper with a little grin quirking his mouth up. 

Steve doesn’t answer that. He just gives Bucky the time he needs to fill out the checklist. Which he finishes in less than a few minutes. He hands them back to Steve and as soon as Steve starts reviewing it, he knows damn well that he didn’t pay attention to what it says.

“So then it’s fine if I just slap you in the face?” He says. Offhanded and nonchalant. Since faceslapping, along with the rest of the list, is marked off as ‘yes’.

He must catch Bucky off guard. For a moment, he just stares out at Steve like he’s shocked at the proposition. Bucky’s eyes dip down and he holds his hand out.

“Sorry,” He whispers. “I… I’m used to… I’ll do it again.”

Bucky’s not looking at him, but Steve nods approvingly as he hands them back over.

“Good boy,” He praises. Pets his hand over Bucky’s head and feels warm inside when it pulls that shy smile out of him. A touch of pink coloring his cheeks. “Do it right this time.”

“Yes, sir.” He breathes and leans into Steve’s touch. 

This time around, Bucky takes his time. Crossing out a ‘yes’ here and there and making it a ‘maybe’, a few ‘curious’, or all out ‘no’. There’s one that Steve can tell he must debate over for a little bit. His eyes even flick up to Steve like he might get some sort of self-encouragement with him in his sights. When he finishes, he even takes a moment to run over it again. Doing so gives him the chance to change another answer at the last second. 

He slides the papers back over and waits patiently for Steve to read his answers. Steve’s pretty sure he’s being watched; Bucky waiting for more approval and praise. But Steve is trying not to react. Afraid he might make Bucky feel bad if he’s shows the wrong emotion towards something. But most of their preferences seem to match up pretty well. There’s one though, the one that Bucky seemed to be conflicted over, the ‘no’ crossed out and ‘yes’ marked in its stead that Steve never expected. 

“Is… is it okay now?”

Pulled from his thoughts by the question, Steve gives him a smile. 

“Of course it is. They’re your preferences and limits. I want you to have them. I _expect_ to have them. And you should be enforcing, at least your limits, with all your customers.” Steve assures him, adding a soft cup of his cheek. “You’re not selling yourself, Bucky. You’re selling your services.”

Bucky, whose gaze has been somewhat transfixed on Steve, suddenly chuckles and shakes his head.

“Well look at you,” He remarks. “Has someone been doing some research on sex-workers?”

“I… maybe.” Steve’s face gets hot. “I mean…”

“You want in on the market, Steve?” Bucky teases. “I bet you’d make a killin’.”

“No, I…” He rattles his head and sighs. Looks back at Bucky with a smirk. “We’re getting off topic.” Steve tugs on the bottom of Bucky’s shirt. “You like following orders?”

At least, that’s what the checklist said. And given the blush that fills Bucky’s face at the mention of it, Steve assumes it’s a yes.

“I mean… depends on who it is, but…” He licks his lips and regains some of that sweet arrogance Steve’s grown to adore. “Yeah. I do. When I like the one giving the orders.”

“So then, am I still your favorite customer?”

Bucky snickers and scoots closer. Ending up on his knees, he combs his fingers through Steve’s hair and brings his mouth near enough to his neck that Steve can feel his breath hit him on each exhale. 

“So far,” He breathes and latches onto Steve’s neck. 

Bucky’s first suck is hard enough to make Steve gasp. He nips a bit at Steve’s skin, then settles into a series of gentle suckles and kisses. Feels so nice that Steve needs to drop his head to the side just so Bucky can reach more. Which he does. As soon as more skin is exposed, Bucky gets straight to it. Needing only a breath of time to read his customer’s wishes and making Steve groan when he starts making his way up his throat. 

“You wanna gimme orders, Stevie?” Bucky whispers between pecks.

Tilting his chin down, Steve finds Bucky giving him that tantalizing look. The one that could--maybe _does_ \--rip Steve in half and makes him want to give Bucky everything his beating heart desires. Steve’s lips are too close to Bucky’s to resist. He pulls him in. Slams their mouths together and flips Bucky onto his back. Steve gets a moan as his tongue invades Bucky’s mouth. 

God how does he always taste so good? Even with the hint of cigarettes on his mouth, Bucky’s like heaven. Lips smooth, moist tongue eager to swirl around with his. Bucky’s hands are latched onto the back of Steve’s shirt as he moves under his body. Hips thrusting up each time Steve moves. All his moves are fevered. Pushing down on Bucky’s body, wanting to touch every fucking inch of him. Make him remember this time no matter who he’s going to after him.

Steve jerks away at that thought, struck with an idea. He gazes down at Bucky, now breathless and starting to sweat. Bucky lifts his head up in an attempt to keep kissing, but Steve doesn’t let him. A soft whine breaks from Bucky’s throat. 

“Y’know…” He contemplates it and nods. “I don’t think I’m gonna let you come tonight.”

Mouth falling open, Bucky’s eyes go wide.

“W-what?”

“Hmm…” Steve lifts up and rubs his hand over Bucky’s crotch, grabbing a handful of the erection that so desperately needs to be freed. This makes Bucky’s head fall back. He moans when Steve presses harder. “Yeah. I think so. If you wanna come tonight, you’re just gonna have to hope your _next_ customer will take care of that.”

At first, Bucky appears thoroughly confused. Like he has no idea what Steve’s talking about. When it clicks, his eyes grow larger than a few moments ago. He gasps and shakes his head like he’s about to argue.

“No but…” Bucky makes a whimpered noise in the back of his throat. Eyes closed, he whispers a swear--soft, self-deprecating, as though he now regrets telling Steve about his next customer--and then peers up at Steve, giving him the most precious puppy-dog eyes. “But, sir, you make me feel _so good_.”

Steve makes an attempt to stifle the moan that grows inside of him at such a statement. No idea if Bucky’s just working with what Steve’s given him or telling the truth, but it shoots fire through his body anyway. He rubs his hand over Bucky’s hard-on some more. Pulls moans and gasps from him the more he does it. 

“You like being tied up, baby?” Steve asks. Lips right by Bucky’s ear and adding little kitten licks to his neck. 

Bucky nods. Catches his breath and says, “Will you tie me up, sir?”

“What if I wanna do suspension, hm?” He wonders. One of Bucky’s checked ‘no’s’. Not even a ‘maybe’ or ‘curious’. Flat out no. “Pull you up off the ground?”

That makes Bucky hesitate and falter a bit. He looks confused by the question and not sure how to answer it. At first, Steve thinks he’s going to answer with his usual. _You’re payin’_. Instead, Bucky sucks in a deep breath and shakes his head.

“No.” He answers softly. “I don’t want you to do that, Steve.” Bucky adds, this time a little firmer, “Please don’t do that.”

Steve grins. Runs his hands over Bucky’s head and pulls him up for a kiss.

“Such a good boy,” He murmurs. Bucky whimpers through a grin as he wraps his arms around him to keep kissing his neck. “You’re so good. You want me to tie you up?”

“Please?” He squeaks. “My wrists at least? Maybe my ankles?”

“Go into my bedroom,” He instructs, pointing down the hall. “Get undressed. Sit on my bed and wait like a good boy.”

Bucky gives him an eager nod of the head and sits up, slides off the couch and then pauses before going.

“Steve? Um, sir?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you… really not gonna let me come?” He asks. Almost whiny. Definitely needy. As though he’s been waiting hours and hours for release when it’s really only been a few minutes since Steve even made mention of such a threat.

Steve only answers with a shrug. Which makes Bucky’s eyes nearly roll into the back of his head. His hips jerk forward. Involuntarily. A reaction to Steve’s gesture and not getting a real answer. Truth be told, Steve’ll let him come if really needs it. If it gets painful enough that he can’t hold back. But he’s not going to tell him that. All part of the fun. So Steve shoos him off with a few flicks of his fingers.

“Now go do what you’ve been told, my sweet boy.”

“Y-yes, sir.” He moans and disappears towards Steve’s bedroom while Steve heads to the kitchen.

He grabs two bottles of water and the safety sheers from out of the drawer. Steve braces his weight against the counter for a moment. He’s excited--the bulge in his pants is enough to prove that--but, damn it all, the thought of Bucky leaving here and going to be with someone else? It’s physically painful. Like someone punching him in the stomach. 

Which is completely illogical. This is Bucky’s job. What he does. It’s just sex. Exactly what’s happening here. Just sex. 

And yet it still feels _wrong_. By all accounts, Steve’s well aware he has no right to think such things. This desire to keep Bucky all to himself. He can’t help feeling selfish about the whole thing. He wants Bucky because Bucky’s made him feel more at home, more _right_ than he’s felt in years. 

Steve glances at the clock. Just a little over two hours left. Feels like a curse. He’s doomed to turn back into a pumpkin at midnight. After four hours of freedom.

Rather than dwell and sulk about those things Steve doesn’t have--may not ever have--he takes the items he came in for and goes to the bedroom, stopping at the linen closet on the way for a washcloth. He finds Bucky waiting on the bed. Hands curled to fists, pressed tensely into his thighs like he’s having trouble resisting the urge to touch himself. Still, he smiles upon seeing Steve. Soft and patient even with his hard dick pressed up against his stomach. 

Steve answers only with a smile of his own, places the water and shears and washcloth down on the nightstand and goes to his dresser. The top drawer is not only home to his undergarments--boxers, socks, undershirts--but also several silk scarves. None of which he’s ever worn. All used for these current intentions. 

He selects two. One dark blue, the other black. Just for Bucky’s wrists. He’ll save tying down all four limbs for another time. If that’s something Bucky still wants. 

Turning back to Bucky, Steve sees he’s being watched. He runs the scarves through his hands. Like silky water brushing across his skin. 

“What do you say if you want me to stop?” Steve asks. 

“Red.” Bucky answers automatically and goes on without being prompted. “Yellow to slow down. Green for good.”

“Move back to the headboard, okay?” Steve’s picked the piece of furniture out for very specific reasons. Wooden, lined with several bars that allows for many different options.

As soon as Bucky is pushed back, Steve helps him readjust the pillows so that he has plenty of support. 

“Are you comfortable?” He checks with him. Giving one of the pillows a last fluff. “Okay?”

“Yeah. I’m good.” Bucky replies. Hurriedly. As though he’s having trouble staying patient. He even holds his left wrist out for Steve and peers up at him. “Please? Sir?”

Steve takes his outstretched wrist and first kisses it before raising it up against the headboard where he wants it. He ties it in place with the blue scarf. Checks with Bucky to make sure it’s not too tight--Bucky even makes a show of testing it.

“Steve, if I tell you somethin’, will you promise not to get mad?”

Bucky’s quiet voice makes him stop what he’s doing immediately. His other wrist falls from the incomplete knot when Steve steps away.

“Are you okay, Bucky?” He asks. “If you don’t want to do this, we won’t. You need to tell me.”

Really, if Bucky even utters the word ‘yellow’ or indicates any real discomfort whatsoever, Steve’ll stop everything. 

“No, no,” Bucky says quickly. Picking his wrist back up and placing it back where the scarf hangs empty and lonely. “I want _this_. I just…” He makes an endearing whimper and pouts. “I have to tell you something but I don’t want you to get mad. Promise?”

Steve regards him seriously; mind jumping from the worst possible scenario to the impossible. 

“I… promise I’ll _try_ not to get mad.”

It’s really all he can give, considering he has no information to go on here. Steve doesn’t want to make a promise and break it. Trust being built and then shattered at the first test. 

“I, um, I don’t really have another customer.” He chokes out. Keeps eye contact even though it’s clearly hard to. “I only said that cause I wanted to see what you’d do.”

At first, all Steve can do is stare at him. He’s not sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, he can’t help being relieved. That’s if it’s true. On the other, why would Bucky want to check something like that? To test him? 

Bucky’s lip is tucked under his teeth. He’s pressing hard, too. Worried, maybe, about how Steve’s going to react.

“Are you just saying that?” Steve asks. “Or are you being honest?”

“I ain’t lying.” Bucky promises. “You can check my schedule,” He glances to where his pants are folded on the floor. “S’in my phone. I didn’t wanna have another customer today.”

Steve turns his head to look at where Bucky’s phone would be under the pretense of actually going to check it. He’s actually turning away so that Bucky doesn’t see the smile that’s creeped up on his face. There’s no proof that Bucky didn’t want another customer just for him, but the idea of it? It leaves Steve floating. 

When he faces forward again, smile as settled as it’s going to be, Steve goes back to tying Bucky’s wrist in place.

“So you lied to me.” He questions. Back into character and anxious to get Bucky there, too. 

“I… no, I told you…”

“About having another customer.” Steve clarifies and sits down at the side of the bed. “Good boys don’t lie, do they, Bucky?”

“Oh.” Bucky wrestles with that one a bit. A little confused as how to properly answer it. Act on. “N-no, sir.”

“And you lied.”

He swallows hard and looks up at Steve like he’s been caught redhanded and loving it at the same time. 

“I… did. M’sorry, sir. I won’t lie no more.”

“Hm.” Steve runs a finger down Bucky’s chest. He lets it trail over his belly and touch just the start of the dark, tight curls. Bucky’s staring at those fingers. At Steve’s hand _so_ close to his cock and not _touching_. Staring so hard that his mouth has fallen open. Steve wouldn’t be surprised to see drool. “What should I do with you, sweet boy? Should I let you get away with lying?”

Bucky shakes his head. Doesn’t even need to think it over.

“No, sir. I think maybe you should teach me a lesson.”

Smirking, Steve nods and rises to his feet, taking his hand away from Bucky’s body. He whimpers at that, but folds his lips in when Steve flicks his eyebrows up. Steve makes his way to the foot of the bed and picks both of Bucky’s ankles up, settling them on his shoulders. He bends forward, never breaking from Bucky’s eyes until the very last second; when he parts those plump cheeks and hears Bucky gasp.

He’s still looking at his target when he says, “Gimme a color, Bucky.”

“Green.” Bucky pants. “Green, _зеленый_ , green, green, green…”

Steve leans forward and presses a kiss into his hole. As soon as his lips make contact, Bucky’s body tenses and then starts to relax when Steve’s tongue grazes the same spot. He lets out a moan and a soft _please_. Steve pinches the inside of Bucky’s thigh hard enough to make him yip and jerk about as much as the restraints will allow. 

“No noise.” Steve scolds. “If you’re going to use that voice of yours to lie to me, then unless you’re using it for a safeword, I don’t want to hear it until I give you permission to use it again.” He lifts back up to see the shocked look on Bucky’s face. Given how vocal he’s gotten in the past, the idea of having to be quiet now must be torturous. And yet, his eyes glimmer with excitement and his dick gives a little jump. “Are you gonna be quiet for me? Gonna prove you can be a good boy again?”

His mouth opens like he’s about to answer, but he snaps it closed as he thinks better of it. Bucky gives a quick nod. Eyes still locked, Steve licks him again. His mouth falls open and his eyes squeeze closed. Bucky’s hands flail about as Steve eats him out. Licking around and in, pulling his cheeks as far apart as possible and shoving his tongue deep inside. 

Bucky pants and thrusts his hips and makes these tiny, strained noises in the back of his throat as he tries desperately to keep quiet as Steve’s chin is coated in his own spit. The heels of Bucky’s feet dig into Steve’s shoulders for support. Steve can hear the headboard hit the wall every now and then as Bucky struggles and squirms with his wrists bound to it. By the time Steve pulls away, the kid is trembling and completely breathless.

“Did that feel good, baby?” Steve asks softly as he strips himself down. “You like my tongue?”

Eyes droopy and head dipped forward, Bucky once again almost forgets he’s not supposed to speak and goes to answer. Remembering at the last second, he gives Steve another nod. He’s still focused on Steve as Steve makes his way over to his nightstand. There, he pulls out a bottle of lube and a condom. 

“You think you can still stay quiet, Bucky? While I open you up a little more so I can fuck you nice and good?”

The look he gets nearly breaks his heart. His poor sweet boy, so badly wanting to make the noises he’s being denied. 

“Aw, don’t worry, sweetheart,” He soothes, and runs his thumb along Bucky’s lip. He opens his mouth for him and Steve lets him suck on it for a bit as he assures him, “I’ll let you make noise when you come.”

Even with Steve’s thumb tucked tightly in his mouth, Bucky manages to breathe a sigh of relief. Steve chuckles and musses up Bucky’s hair before slipping his finger out of his mouth. Bucky lets out a tiny whimper and tries to follow Steve’s thumb, mouthing at it as Steve moves away.

“Aren’t you a greedy little boy?” Steve snickers.

Before moving away again, Steve takes one of the bottles of water he’d retrieved earlier from the kitchen. He makes sure Bucky sees him crack the seal when opening it. Just in case.

“Open up.” He instructs then cups his hand under Bucky’s chin to help guide the water bottle to his lips. “Good?” Steve checks once he’s had a few sips of water. Bucky nods, Steve takes a drink himself and sets the bottle back down. 

He rubs his hand over his cock a bit as he moves for the foot of the bed again. Takes note of how swollen Bucky’s has become after being neglected all this time. When he notices Bucky watching his hand moving over himself like that, Steve makes a bit of a show jerking himself off a bit more. Normally, such an act would take a lot longer to feel comfortable to do in front of someone. Not Bucky. God it just feels so _right_. All of this. 

So right and never meant to be. 

“See what you do to me?” Steve murmurs. Bucky perk up a bit. Unsure what he means. “I can’t control myself around you. Not when you look like that.” Steve keeps pumping his hand over himself. “Look how fucking beautiful you are. A work of art. Such a beautiful, sweet boy.”

A blush fills Bucky’s face. He tries to hide that bashful smile of his but being in the position he’s in there’s not much he can do other than tuck his chin into his chest.

“There’s that pretty smile,” Steve goes on. “Do I have to tell you that more often? How pretty you are, Bucky?”

There’s moisture in Bucky’s eyes when he lifts his head back up. He’s biting down on his lip either to fight back a smile or tears. Steve stops stroking himself and takes a moment to crawl over the dear boy strapped to his bed. His for just a little while longer. Possibly crying at the affection. 

“Hey,” Steve whispers when he’s hovered over him. “Don’t talk, just listen.” He caresses Bucky’s cheek and says, “You’re beautiful, Bucky.” He kisses him. “So beautiful,” And then pecks both his eyes, “Do you want to stop?”

At that, Bucky panics a little. He shakes his head so quickly, just a little horrified at the idea, and Steve chuckles. 

“Okay, no stopping. I’m going to fuck you then. Do you want to talk now?”

Bucky’s lips set in a line and he pulls his eyebrows in. Looks like he’s trying to convey something to Steve. Something that clicks in just a few seconds.

“You want me to decide.” Steve guesses and the smile on Bucky’s face confirms it. “Got it. Alright. No talking still. You be good now.”

Steve pushes Bucky’s knees up then squeezes some lube onto his fingers so he can properly open his boy up. He works him up to three fingers, curls and twists them slightly. Knows he’s scraping against Bucky’s prostate since the boy’s absolutely incapable of not making some sort of cry everytime he does. Broken little whimpers that would be screams of bliss to the star if given the permission. The desperate and needy crush of Bucky’s jaw would make Steve back off if not for the clear enjoyment and adoration in his eyes. Bucky’s enjoying the struggle. And it only turns Steve on even more.

Condom on, Steve hooks his arm around the folds of Bucky left knee and guides himself towards Bucky’s hole. He eases his way inside of him and, fuck, how can he go another week without feeling this everyday? Bucky’s so tight and hot and perfect and Steve grabs his other leg with his own arm and slams forward. Home. Where he belongs. 

Bucky hisses and then sighs happily. He pants and lets his head roll back as Steve moves in and out of him.

“Oh fuck…” Steve groans. “Bucky, you feel so f-fucking good.”

Steve’s hands grab onto the kid’s hips to hold him steady as he pounds into him. He can’t hold back. Not with how incredible Bucky feels wrapped around his cock. 

Despite how hard he’s trying, Bucky’s unable to hold back the grunts and moans that Steve pulls out of him. Much to Steve’s delight. Every time Steve hits his prostate, Bucky’s eyes roll back and he cries out as quietly as he can manage. His hands fumble about, his wrists pulling against the scarves that keep him tied down and his movements limited. 

The grip he’s got on Bucky’s waist is tight enough that it’s sure to leave bruises. Steve Roger’s fingerprints left along his skin. The thought makes Steve’s muscles go taut. Completely. 

Everything is so much. Bucky tight around him, Bucky trembling and squirming beneath him, Bucky’s little noises, Bucky’s skin under his hands.

The world claps over with thunder. Steve’s blinded for a moment by sheer pleasure. Bliss. Rapture. He seizes and grunts out Bucky’s name as he empties out into the condom. 

He’s still holding onto Bucky while his body settles down. Steve picks his head up and glances at Bucky’s swollen cock. So neglected and drooling and ready to burst.

“Look at that, you poor thing.” Steve hums. “That looks painful.”

Even though he must be exhausted and worn out from Steve already, Bucky nods and pouts.

“Then why didn’t you ask me to touch you, sweet boy?” He teases.

The look that’s answered with falls somewhere between a giant _fuck you_ and the most adorable plea Steve’s ever seen. He snickers and runs a finger up Bucky’s cock. Base to tip and smears the precome all along his slit. Bucky’s head falls back in desperate frustration. Steve slowly pulls out and quickly cleans himself off before sitting down next to Bucky.

“Not gonna lie anymore, right, baby?” He murmurs. Runs his hand down Bucky’s belly, scratching a bit along the way and making four pink lines blossom sweetly across his skin. Bucky shakes his head in answer. “Good boy. Go ahead, sweetheart, you can talk. Tell me what you want.”

First things first, Bucky lets out a loud groan. Buried somewhere deep inside of him and bursting free from his lungs. 

“Пожалуйста, трогайте меня!” He shouts. “Пожалуйста, Пожалуйста, сэр!” Bucky pants and keeps going even though Steve has no idea what he’s saying. “о боже, сэр, Пожалуйста…”

“Hey, baby,” Steve taps his fingers across Bucky’s cheek. “Sweet boy, I need you to speak English.”

Blinking a few times, Bucky stares at him like he has no idea what he’s talking about. As though Steve’s request makes no sense. Then his eyes squeeze closed and he rattles his head. Takes a gulp and tries again.

“P-please, touch me,” He whispers. Voice shaky and precious. “Please, sir. Steve… oh god, please…”

Steve wraps a hand around Bucky’s dick and an arm around his waist. Bucky cries out into the night. Spills more words Steve doesn’t know and screams some thank yous in English. His feet scramble about the bed, trying for some sort of purchase and finding none as he attempts to jerk his hips along with Steve’s stroking. 

“Oh god, you’re so good for me,” Steve praises, brows pressed up against Bucky’s temple. “Look how beautiful you are. You come for me whenever you need, baby. You earned it, good boy.”

“Steve! Oh god… m’gonna come… oh fuck… ебать… I’m…”

“That’s it baby, come on.” Steve encourages as Bucky stiffens and gags on the air. His semen streaks across both his belly and Steve’s hand and wrist, and Bucky can’t seem to find the voice he so badly wanted to use this whole time. Steve takes to kissing his cheek and says between pecks, “You’re so good, baby.” Steve hugs his arm tightly around Bucky’s waist. “I’m so proud of you. You did so well.”

Breathless and panting, sweat streaked and tears hugging the corners of his eyes, Bucky weakly turns his head to Steve.

“Kiss me, Steve? Sir?” He asks so sweetly. “Please?”

Arm still tucked around him, Steve does. Happily. Greedily. If it was up to him, he’d spend most of his free time doing so. 

Bucky’s kiss is very feeble. There’s little strength to it, but he still puckers his lips. He just lets Steve do all of the work. When Steve adds one last kiss and pulls away, Bucky gives him a shaky grin.

“You really proud a’me, Steve?”

Steve brushes Bucky’s chin between his thumb and index finger. He presses his lips into his brow and says, “Yes. Very proud.”

His eyes are closed, head leaned back against the headboard, and Bucky’s smile gets wider. Steve’s praising. Real or not real. Steve’s not sure. 

“Hold still.” Steve instructs. “I’m gonna clean you up.” He uses the washcloth, dampened with a little bit of water from the opened bottle, to do so. Wipes it across Bucky’s forehead and face first, then his own hand and Bucky’s stomach. He puts the cloth aside and goes to untie Bucky’s wrists. “Now don’t move. Let me lower you down slowly, okay?”

“Mhm.” 

That’s probably the most coherent thing he can get from him at the moment. Bucky looks completely worn out. Wrecked and debauched. Still trying to catch his breath. He hisses a little when Steve carefully brings down his first arm, rotating it for him a bit as he does. 

“Do you need anything, baby?” Steve asks as he undoes the next scarf. “Water, food? Blanket? Company?”

When Steve realizes Bucky’s picked his head up, he glances down to look back at him. Meets Bucky’s now opened eyes. And almost hard expression.

“Christ, are you gonna ask me that _every_ fucking time?”

Steve stops what he’s doing, leaving Bucky still tied in the half knotted scarf. He moves to lean over him. Bucky shrinks back, momentarily unaware of what’s about to happen.

“ _Yes_.” Steve says through clenched teeth. “So get _used_ to it.” He takes Bucky’s chin between his fingers. “And don’t talk to me like that.”

Chin still in Steve’s hand, Bucky nods and whispers, “Y-yes. M’sorry. Steve. I didn’t…” He sighs and folds his lips in. “I’m sorry.”

Steve lets go and starts with the knot again. 

“It’s okay, baby.” He’ll chalk the attitude up to adrenaline and endorphins. And the aftercare thing as a past issue he’s still not aware of. Might not ever be. “Don’t do it again though.”

“Yes, sir.” Bucky whisper so quietly Steve’s not sure he’s meant to hear it. He’s watching him though, as he unties the rest of the knot. Steve can see him out of his peripheral. “Steve?”

“Mm?”

“Can… can I have some of that water then?”

“Yep.” Steve’s not about to make a big deal of it. 

If he can coax Bucky into taking aftercare from him, he’ll be downright giddy. More so than he already is with the damn kid. He lowers Bucky’s arm, working it out like he did with the other, and then helps him drink some water. 

“I’ll be right back.” Steve says as he pulls his boxers back on. “Stay warm, okay? Under the covers.” He hands over the water bottle. “And drink some more.”

“Where’re ya…” Bucky yawns and is already getting under the blanket, “goin’?” 

“I’m getting something from the bathroom.”

He makes a noise, one that makes Steve thinks that he’s acknowledging what he’s said, but says nothing in response. Steve goes straight to the bathroom and just grabs the muscle cream from his medicine cabinet. 

When he gets back to the bedroom, Bucky’s curled up under the comforter with the bottle of water clenched in his hand. More than half of it gone. As Steve comes forward, he opens his eyes and catches sight of what’s in his hands. He makes a disgruntled face and takes a peek at the clock. 

“Half hour,” He grumbles. “I _guess_ that’s fine.”

“Aren’t you such a martyr.” Steve rolls his eyes. “And yes, you’re letting me do this for you. You’re still mine for thirty more minutes.”

Bucky’s lifting himself up, elbows still a bit shaky, and he shakes his head with a snicker.

“Kinda hypocritical, don’tchya think?”

“What is?” Steve wonders as he slides behind Bucky.

He glances over his shoulder and says, “Aren’t you the one who keeps insisting I don’t do things I don’t really wanna?”

Maybe he has a point. Enough of one that it makes Steve falter a bit. However, he _does_ have a counter argument.

“S’not the same.” He retorts. “I’m taking care of you. Since _you_ won’t do it for yourself. Your arms were up for a while. I don’t want them to get sore on you. Besides,” Steve squeezes a dab of the ointment on his finger, “I _like_ taking care of you. Now face forward.”

Bucky’s eyes swim with that same emotion as earlier. When Steve called him pretty and again when told him he was proud of him. He does as he’s told and turns around so that Steve can get to his shoulders. 

He runs his hands across them. Kneading his fingers into his muscles, his thumbs right under his shoulder blades. Bucky starts to moan softly after just a minute. His head droops forward and moves from side to side like he has no strength to hold it up anymore. 

“Kay, nix what I said,” Bucky hums. “You can do this anytime ya’ want. No problem.”

Steve laughs softly and keeps going. He massages Bucky’s shoulders for about twenty minutes and only stops because he realizes the kid’s falling asleep on him. 

“Hey,” Steve whispers. “You okay?”

“Mmm…” He pries his eyes opens and glances at the clock. “Yours for ten more minutes,” His sleepy voice says. “Can I just…” Bucky gains a bit more coherency and realizes what he’s about to ask. “Uh, no, never mind.”

“No what?” Steve encourages. “What is it?”

Poor kid looks completely wiped out. He’s barely able to even keep his eyes open. 

“Um… just… I can lean back on you? Like you said?”

“Course you can!” He doesn’t mean to sound so enthusiastic about it. Steve can’t help it though. 

It doesn’t really seem as though Bucky’s noticed anyway. He just drops back against him and might actually be asleep before he nuzzles up on Steve’s chest. Steve pulls the covers up more; makes sure to keep Bucky warm. Wants to wrap his arms around him, but Bucky’s hesitant enough just to ask for and accept this. He does, however, rest his chin atop of Bucky’s head. Just a few more minutes with him. A few minutes to rest with him. 

Steve doesn’t even know he’s falling asleep let alone has _been_ sleeping until something wakes him up. A noise. Buzzing. Something’s buzzing. It stops.

He rattles the sleep from his mind to look around the room. Bucky’s still sleeping on him, his hand cupped around Steve’s thigh. The clock tells him it’s almost twelve thirty. Steve rubs the bottom of his palm into his eye when the buzzing starts up again. 

More awake now, Steve figures out what it is. A phone. Not his. Can’t be. Not only is his still in the kitchen, but it’s not on vibrate. Which leaves only one option. 

“Bucky,” Steve murmurs into his hair. Hand on his shoulder, he gives him a soft shake. “Hey, Bucky?”

He starts to stir, but it takes a bit more of an effort to really get him up. Steve needs to jostle him more to get any real response from him. 

“Mmm…” His face scrunches but he doesn’t fully wake. “Five more minutes, Clint.”

Steve chuckles and tries again.

“Bucky, come on, wake up, baby.”

Sucking in a deep breath, he finally lifts up and off of Steve. Looks around a bit like he’s very confused by his surroundings. Steve rubs his back a bit to keep him calm.

“Buck, I think your phone is ringing.”

Bucky looks at him. A dazed, far-off expression locked on his face. 

“Steve?”

“Yeah, Bucky, it’s me. And your phone is ringing.”

“My phone?”

“Uh-ha. Your phone is ringing.”

Which it is again.

“My phone.” Bucky nods and smacks his lips together. “My phone.” He repeats and then his eyes grow saucer-wide as things begin to click. “My phone! Oh shit!” He flings the covers off and hurries over to his pants, muttering curses the entire way. “Don’t hang up,” He pleads as he yanks it out of the pocket. “Don’t… _fuck_! No, no, no…” 

Bucky quickly calls the person back and, though he hasn’t known him long, Steve’s never seen him look so nervous. 

“Don’t call the cops!” Bucky shouts when the person answers. “I’m fine! I’m okay, I swear!” He pauses, presumably to let the other end speak. Face twisting as though he’s being reprimanded. “But I… no I… I fell asleep, that’s all! Nat, I swear, everything is _fine_!” He whines with a jerk of his knee. “Oh come _on_! Please don’t make me say it.” Bucky runs his fingers over his eyes. “ _Fine_. Yes, but I always carry an umbrella. Satisfied?” His face falls a bit. “You want to what?… no, I can’t… _Natasha_ , he’s my _customer_!” 

Tossing his head back, Bucky grunts and then lowers the phone. It takes him a few seconds, but he sighs and looks over at Steve. He holds the phone out. Hesitant and reluctant, but still does it.

“She… Nat wants to talk to you.”

Steve can feel the blood drain from his face. This shouldn’t exactly make him nervous. It’s not like he _knows_ this Natasha. But she’s Bucky’s best friend. And quite ticked off at the moment from the sounds of it.

“Um… okay…” Steve takes the phone and cautiously brings it to his ear, afraid it might hurt once it’s there. “H-hello?”

“So, are you the one who just paid to fuck my best friend?”

He goes cold at that. Hearing it phrased in such a way makes him feel like some dirty sleaze ball. Some jerk who’s just using Bucky for his body. 

“I… well I mean…”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” She interrupts. Fierce and harsh. “You listen to me, Steve Rogers, if you hurt _one_ hair on Bucky’s head I _will_ hunt you down and have you destroyed.”

“No I… I’d never hurt him. I swear.” Steve promises. Even holding his hand up as though she could see it. “I just… I like him.”

Not only does Natasha not answer right away, Bucky, in the process of putting his clothes back on, stops and almost drops his shirt. He doesn’t quite _look_ at Steve, but he doesn’t _not_ look at him either. Not the same thing. There’s a tiny smirk on his face when he pulls his shirt over his head.

“You have a nice voice, Steve Rogers.” Natasha says. “Don’t fuck up. And… I’m pretty sure he likes you, too. Now put jerkface back on the phone.”

Assuming that means Bucky, Steve goes to, stops, brings the phone back to say a very awkward _bye_ and then hands it back over. 

“Are you done alienating my client now?” Bucky says to her. He rolls his eyes at whatever she responds with, but smiles nonetheless. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll see you when I get home. Love you.” He ends the call and stuff his phone back in his pocket. “Sorry bout that. She gets… protective. And freaks out if I don’t call or text her at least ten minutes after my scheduled appointment ends.”

“She… she knew my name.” 

“Ye-ah.” He stretches his lips and points his fingers at Steve. “Sorry, Nat doesn’t like not knowing at least a little bit of information on my customer. She, uh, she knows your address, too.” Bucky fiddles with his fingers. “You’re not mad, are you?”

“For you taking steps to keep yourself safe?” Steve chuckles. “Of course not.”

It’s also a ridiculous relief. Knowing that Natasha keeps such a strong and affectionate eye on him. 

“Kay, cool.” Bucky stretches his arms up over his head. Smirks at Steve when they lower and he has to rub his shoulders out a bit. “Gonna feel that for the weekend.”

“Is that… good?”

He laughs.

“S’not bad. I’ve been left with worse.” He runs his tongue over his top lip. “This one’s nice though.”

“ _Bucky_ …”

Bucky holds his palms out to halt the inevitable scolding.

“I know, I know. M’sorry.” He grins and sighs. “Still gotta get used to how cute you are.”

Steve scoffs and gets up.

“Come on. I’ll walk you out.” He goes to put his arm around Bucky, but holds back. Time’s up. Maybe it’s not okay now. “Unless…” They’re in the hall and Steve just can’t stop himself. “Unless you can stay? You can. If you want.”

That request, or offer as Steve’s worded it, makes Bucky stumble a little. He looks up at him. For one wild second, Steve thinks he might actually stay. 

“No, dude. That’s okay.” He replies with a shake of his head. “Don’t take handouts.”

He goes straight for his shoes and slips into them quickly. 

“That’s not…” Steve gets to Bucky’s jacket before Bucky does. Just a breath before. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Yeah I gotchya, dude.” Bucky shrugs and combs through his hair as Steve helps him into his coat. “You like me. Can’t live without me. What can I say, I’m a likeable guy.”

“Ugh. Did you really need to have your head get any bigger?”

Bucky’s laughing softly as he turns back around. Since Steve’s still only in his boxers, Bucky runs his hands over his abs and hums like it’s the best thing he’s gotten to do all night. His touch makes Steve’s skin quiver beneath it and Bucky’s hands end up at his lower back. He pulls Steve close and kisses his pecks. 

“Same time next week, Stevie?” He asks with his lips still trailing kisses over his chest. “That good?”

Fingers run across the nape of Bucky’s neck. Fuck, Steve doesn’t want him to leave. Doesn’t want to have to wait seven full days just to have him back in his arms. For Bucky to be _his_ again. 

“Mhm.” Steve feels his heart starting to pound. “Bucky…” He breathes in deeply. Already he’s got him wrapped around his finger again. Not that he’s ever been unwrapped anyway. “What… what language are you speaking?”

“Uh… English?”

“No, I mean… what _other_ language. Sometimes you don’t speak in English.”

“Oh. Yeah, I didn’t even realize. Do I do that often?”

Steve brushes his hand over the kid’s head and says, “Yeah. Well, at least every time I’ve been with you.”

That makes Bucky blush. He hides his face in Steve’s body and chuckles. Mumbles into his skin, “S’never happened with a customer before. Russian, by the way. It’s Russian.”

“So you speak Russian?” Steve questions, trying, and failing miserably, to ignore the flutter in his stomach at being the only customer to cause English to fail him. 

“Yeah. My grandparents only spoke Russian.” He starts putting his lips against him again. “And Nat’s Russian, too, so she speaks it.”

Steve wants to ask him more about his family. Wants to tell him he speaks French. Wants to know everything about him and tell him everything about his own life. 

“Can I kiss you goodnight, Bucky?” Is all he can manage right now.

He looks up from his kissing, chin resting on Steve’s body and Steve can see the idea being tossed around in his head. But he ends up shaking his head. 

“No.” He whispers. “Sorry. Time’s up.”

“Okay.”

Well, as disappointing as that is, Steve’d much rather him say no than do something he didn’t want to. 

Bucky adds one last light kiss to his chest and moves away. He’s pulling his pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket as Steve opens the door. To let him out of his life again. 

“Well,” He pinches Steve’s cheek, “Have a nice weekend, Steve. See ya Monday.”

“Wait a sec,” Steve gently takes hold of his arm to keep him from leaving just yet. He reaches back to the hooks next to the door and grabs his Yankee’s cap. Puts it atop Bucky’s head. “S’cold out.”

A laugh shakes through both of them when Bucky jerks his head up. The hat’s brim sits just above his eyebrows.

“Dude, you got a big head.” Bucky jokes. Pushes the brim up only to have it slide right back down. He huffs and tries again as he goes to leave.

“No bigger than yours, kid.” He reaches out before it’s too late to rest his hand on the small of Bucky’s back. “Get home safe, Bucky. And I want that hat back!”

Bucky flicks a wave over his head as he heads down the hall and says, “Sure thing,” He glances back with that saucy look on his face to add, “sir.” 

Steve gets a laugh at the pursed lips and the shake of the head he gives to him. He watches until Bucky’s out of sight before closing the door. 

What Natasha said to him-- _I think he likes you, too_ \--is floating through his mind. Filling him with warmth and this light, airy sensation. Steve’s tired and already missing that damn kid, but he sits down on the couch and reaches for the checklist he had Bucky fill out earlier.

His thumb brushes over one of the answers. The one Bucky had struggled with, changing the original ‘yes’ to a ‘no’ to a ‘maybe’ back to a ‘yes’ again. Steve isn’t sure what to make of it. It might mean nothing. Just a sex thing. 

Or maybe it means more… Bucky saying yes to wanting a collar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So I hope you enjoyed Chapter 3! :) 
> 
> Feel free to find me on tumblr at [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/) or to check out any of my other work. 
> 
> Hope to see you for the next update.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger//squick warning: in this chapter Steve and Bucky will be participating in the dissection of a fetal pig in their bio lab. There isn't really much description but it does happen so if that's going to make anyone uncomfortable you might want to skip over that part
> 
> As always please be mindful of the tags!

Steve lives for Thursdays. The rest of the week means next to nothing compared. Days that he needs to get through before he’s with Bucky again. To feel so alive. 

Mondays aren’t so bad. He gets to share lectures with Bucky and some days Bucky’ll come in and give a friendly greeting. Toss a joke here or there. If the weather’s bad enough he makes his cigarette break short and sometimes spend a few minutes talking to Steve if he doesn’t get occupied with someone else in class.

Lab days, well, lab days are tough. Because the afternoon _before_ Bucky comes over, the kid is a hell of a lot more rambunctious than any other times. 

Whenever they have to do actual work together, Bucky turns into a mean, little flirt. More to the point, he’s a little brat. Won’t sit still. Jabbers away. Sucks on the end of his pen in the most provocative way. Whines. Drops his head on the table. He does what Steve tells him needs to be done for the experiment. Pours this and measures that. But more than half the time he’s gone ahead and answered what he’s able to without needing the results the lab will produce.

It’s easy to figure out why. Bucky’s acting bored, because he _is_ bored. Kid’s smart as a whip. Doesn’t need to study the way Steve does to earn his high marks. Bucky shows up, listens to the material and retains it. Probably helps a lot with his business. 

Sometimes a scolding tone will help stifle Bucky’s restlessness. A hot, fast _Bucky, be good_ might do the trick. For a little bit. Before long, Bucky’s at it again. Long, heavy sighs. Doodling on the side of his lab. Trying to get a rise out of Steve with a hand on his thigh or the back of the neck. Steve’s resorted to always carrying a big bag of assorted candy with him to every lab class. Bribery, it seems, works best. Or, as Steve likes to think of it, positive reinforcement. He got quite a laugh at Bucky’s eye roll for that one.

Not that he minds. Not in the least. Most of the time, Steve is trying to keep from laughing or giving up on the lab itself and just giving Bucky what he wants. At the same time, keeping up with their Thursday night roles, even in just the slightest of ways, is extraordinarily fun. Taboo. A secret between… well Steve and no one, really. He has no idea if that’s how Bucky feels or if he’s just genuinely being a little pain in the ass for shits and giggles.

It’s still not like the way he interacts with other people. Not like Steve’s seen. Happy-go-lucky chats and a developing friendship. Bucky’s still maintaining that customer relationship and not letting it go any further than that. He never brings up seeing him if they’re not alone. Never what they do or what he does. A professional through and through. 

Even though he comes to class _every_ Monday and Wednesday with Steve’s hat on. 

“Looks good on me,” He comments the first time he sits down next to Steve with it lopsided on his head. “Girls think it’s cute.”

“It’s _my_ hat, Bucky!” Steve laughs. Sounds very much like a child and makes Bucky chuckle.

“Alright, alright. But I got no other hat with me today and it’s _cold_ ,” Bucky adds a little whine to the last word. He’s not wrong. It is cold. “Mind if I hang onto it for the rest’a the day? I’ll give it back to ya’ Wednesday?”

The face he makes with his request, those big, wide eyes, lips pushed out in a most adorable pout, well, it’s not like Steve would’ve said no anyway. But throw that look in and he just about melts. 

“Yeah, yeah. Just bring it back Wednesday.”

Which he does. He comes into the class that afternoon with the hat on, brim down just to the tips of his eyebrows. When Steve goes to take it off his head, Bucky quickly dodges his hand and brings his own up to his head to secure the cap there.

“It’s rainin’!” He says. It is, too. A little. More like a light drizzle. “Gonna mess up my hair!”

Steve scoffs.

“Now that would be a horrible crime,” He grunts. “Fine. You can bring it tomorrow.”

Funnily enough, Bucky forgets to wear it over that following night. Comes in with a wool hat on instead.

“Ah shit, sorry, man.” He sighs when Steve asks about it. “Totally forgot.”

Right. He sure sounds epically remorseful. 

“Am I ever getting my hat back?” Steve wonders as he leads Bucky to the kitchen.

“Sure, sure, narc.” Bucky replies. “First thing Monday.”

No matter how often Steve asks or does, Bucky always has some excuse to keep the hat until the next time they’re set to see each other. Funny enough, whenever Steve happens to see him on other days, Bucky doesn’t have it on. He also always seems to forget it when he comes over Thursdays.

Though he keeps asking for it, and Bucky keeps finding reasons to hang onto it, Steve’s resigned himself to never getting the hat back. He’ll get another.

It’s on Thursdays, _Thursdays_ , that Bucky changes. He always _greets_ Steve with that ever-knowing smirk. Sparkles in his eyes and temptation on his lips. Steve’s very own forbidden fruit. Four hours of it.

But their routine of things has Bucky slipping into something between _that_ Bucky and a more relaxed one. Somewhere between kicking his shoes off and following Steve into the kitchen.

Cooking for Bucky has given way to a new side of Steve. Out in California, he was fine with take-out. Or Rice-a-roni and Hamburger Helper. Quick dishes that took less than thirty minutes to make and required nothing more than packaged flavoring. Needless to say, having someone else to cook for has improved Steve’s culinary skills greatly. 

He adores the look on Bucky’s face when he sits him down and puts a full plate of whatever he’s prepared in front of him. The kid tends to dive right in and moan with his eyes closed and compliment the food as though Steve’s studied at Le Cordon Bleu. Ironically, Bucky’s told him his favorite, so far, has _been_ the chicken cordon bleu. 

Steve’s set his DVR to record several cooking shows on the Food Network. Since he enjoys it enough, he’s gone out and gotten himself a brand new set of pots and pans, though he keeps his mama’s baking bowls--one of the few things of her’s he hasn’t kept stuffed away in a box somewhere. He’s even had his friends over for dinner to show off his new budding skills. 

“The hell, Steve?” Tony laughs as he digs into Steve’s pasta primavera. “You majoring in art or cooking?”

“Can’t someone be good at more than one thing?” Steve laughs.

“Oh yeah sure,” He scoops some more food into his mouth. “Just look at me!”

Everyone else at the table rolls their eyes and tosses napkins at him. Which Tony simply responds to with a shrug and a very amused _Well it’s true!_

“You can’t just leave it about Steve, can you, you big narcissist?” Pepper scoffs. “Really, Steve, this is wonderful.”

“Yeah, man,” Sam agrees. “Thinkin’ maybe you’re gonna have to have us over a hell of a lot more often for this.”

Maria nods along. “S’not like I’m gonna be doing it. Maybe you can give Sam here a few pointers.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know I can whip up some killer breakfast. Oh, and a mean grilled cheese sandwich!” 

“Oh!” Steve chimes up. “Have you tried making a Swiss and Beef Grilled Cheese? It’s really good. Get some French bread, top both pieces with a slice of Swiss cheese, then add a some roast beef, mix some mayo, mustard and chives and that’s what you spread on the outside of your bread to grill. Seriously, it’s good.”

They all just stare at him for a moment and Steve wonders if maybe he’s said something completely strange. Until Sam blinks and rattles his head.

He says, “Did you… did you just out do me with a grilled cheese recipe?”

“I…” Steve laughs when the table begins to crack up. “I’m sorry! I’ve just been watching a lot of these stupid cooking shows!”

“You know, if I didn’t know any better…” Maria remarks. Pauses to take a sip of her wine and then looks quite pointedly at Steve. “I’d say someone’s trying to make himself a bit more domesticated.”

A blush creeps up on Steve’s face. Leave it to the cop to have to go and always nail things right on the head like that.

“N-no. That’s not…” Is that it? Steve’s learning to cook because he likes to cook for Bucky. But for him to want a more domestic life with him would mean… “No, I just… I’m just trying to live on my own. S’all.”

“Big guy, I got news for you,” Tony says. “You’ve been living on your own for ten years.”

“Yeah, but…”

Steve trails off. Chews the inside of his cheek. He pushes a bit of food around on his plate. The pasta tries to offer some support, but it falls short. Yes, Steve’s been on his own all this time. But _living’s_ been a whole different story. 

One could try to claim a bachelor’s life. Pizza and beer. Trips to the bar and playing videos games while having flings and working odd jobs. Not Steve though. That’s not what he was doing. Well, sure, maybe a little bit. But he really _was_ trying to make something of himself. Wanted to find himself and found nothing instead. Still walks around with this big hole in his chest. The one that chiseled out the day Mama died. 

Before Steve needs to come up with something to say, something that’ll get the topic off of him again, Sam swoops in for the rescue.

“So!” He announces loud enough to call attention to him. “Maria and I were thinking about getting season tickets to the Yanks. Anyone want in?”

There’s an immediate response to that. Tony starts asking where they’re thinking about getting seats since he claims there’s nothing like the quality of a great luxury box while Maria argues that nothing’ll ever beat the feel of being a good ol’ fashioned bleacher creature.

Once they’re all thoroughly involved in their next topic of interest, Steve glances over at Sam. He’s chatting along with the rest of them, but he spares a quick look with Steve. Winks at him while everyone one else is preoccupied. 

Dinner with his friends is always nice. But Steve really looks forward to dinner with Bucky every week. Because it’s during their quickly shared meal that Bucky shows more of himself. Those are the fews times he shares things with Steve. Opens up. 

It’s during those times that Steve’s learned that Bucky’s favorite book is _To Kill a Mockingbird_ , that he was an honor student in high school and could have graduated a year early if he wanted to double up on courses ( _No way. I wasn’t gonna do that! I’m no masochist_. Bucky smirks and flicks his eyebrows. _Well, I mean… y’know_.) He’s a sucker for romcoms, loves scary movies, but hates slasher flicks. The DVR is set to record _How To Get Away with Murder_ and Bucky double checks it every Thursday since For real, Steve, you gotta watch it. _It’s so fuckin’ epic_. 

His friend, and now roommate, Clint Barton, and him have been friends since they were kids and Clint was born premature with seventy percent hearing loss. When Steve told him that _he_ was born with thirty percent hearing loss, Bucky cracked himself up by saying if the two got together they’d have no hearing. 

Apparently, Clint’s the first guy Bucky ever had a crush on, too. Clint’s two years older than Bucky, but was only one grade ahead of him in high school, and they dated briefly when Bucky was a junior. Ended pretty quickly because long distance ( _Hey, for a sixteen and eighteen year old Brooklyn and Long Island is fuckin’ far, man_ ) was too tough. Now, Clint and Natasha are “seeing” each other. Which is apparently code for spending all their time together, sleeping together, living together--the two of them, along with Bucky share a three bedroom apartment off campus--not seeing any other people and going out on dates but they’re _not_ dating. 

Dinner talks also have Steve sharing things about himself as well. He’s told Bucky about his sickly childhood. Open heart surgery and long hospital stays for his anemia. Various types of strep throat and too many asthma attacks to count. All the medications he’s still on. Vitamins, blood pressure pills, cholesterol pills, iron pills, heart pills. 

“You’re not… like, dyin’ or nothin’, right?” Bucky asks the first time he catches a glimpse of all the pill bottles in Steve’s kitchen cabinet.

Steve, in the middle of grabbing pepper for grilled chicken he’s made, glances at the objects that sparked the question. There were so many _more_ bottles at one time. When his mama was dying. Medications everywhere. He almost sighs, but keeps it in. No point in it. Mama’s gone. Not coming back. 

“No, Buck,” Steve answers gently. “I’m not dying.” He turns to face him and sees that color is just returning to his cheeks. Kid looked real worried there for a second. “Just something I live with everyday. Like your friend Clint has his hearing aids, I have all this.”

Bucky nods and it looks like he might want to apologize for calling attention to it at all. He doesn’t though and just waits for Steve to carry on with any conversation he might want to have.

“I was a late bloomer,” He tells him. “Puberty didn’t really catch up to me till I was about fifteen. Shot up almost a full foot over one summer and was really able to put on weight. So I worked out. Well, as much as my asthma allowed.”

“Fuckin’ paid off, dude.” Bucky compliments and throws him one of those fast winks. 

Steve blushes and tries to ignore the heat that coils in his stomach. 

“Before that? I was really small. Skinny and stuff. I used to get beat up a lot. Sometimes for no reason at all.”

“Is there ever a reason to just beat someone up?” 

“I mean, no, of course not.” Steve agrees with Bucky’s sentiment. “It’s just… well…” He sighs and shakes his head. “Let’s just say that sometimes my bark was bigger than my bite.”

Dropping his fork onto his plate, Bucky smirks and leans over the table. Elbows down and chin in his hands.

“Oh do go on, grandpa. I just _need_ to hear about this side of you.”

Steve scoffs, but just can’t help laughing along with it. This kid’s too damn adorable for his own good. Steve’s as well.

“When someone’s being an asshole to someone it’s just not so easy for me to keep my mouth shut. And _sometimes_ that’s gotten me into some trouble. Put me in situations that I couldn’t always handle.” Steve holds his hand up as if to prove some sort of innocence. “But it’s not like I was just going around picking fights or trying’a knock the lights outta someone I didn’t like. If someone’s treating someone bad it just feels… _wrong_ not to _do_ something about it. So I did. Or do. Doesn’t matter what size I am.”

Bucky stares at him. Glitter in his eyes, expression awed. As though really seeing Steve for the first time. When he looks away, he looks almost sad. It’s the one and only time Steve’s ever seen such a look on his face. The corners of his lips turns down and his eyes fall to his lap. Bucky, for all Steve’s known him, is showy and open. In the moment, he seems to hold onto himself.

“Dunno why no one’s caught you up.” He mumbles. “Can’t imagine what the fuck you’re doin’ here with someone like me.”

“What does that mean? Someone like you?” Steve rattles his head. “Bucky, I _want_ to be here with you.”

Like Steve flicked some switch in him, a switch that suddenly made Bucky realize what they were talking about, Bucky tosses him a smirk and crinkles his nose. His hands rest behind his head and he leans back a bit. Air of self importance sneaking back around him.

“Course you do.” He coos. “And why wouldn’t you? I’m awesomesauce.”

“You’re…” Steve would like to know what just happened there. That little bout of self doubt or struggle with self worth. Was it real? Does it happen often? Did _he_ do something to make Bucky feel bad? Instead of pressing the issue, Steve says, “You’re… _awesomesauce_?”

Bucky cracks up at the twisted up look on Steve's face. Claims Steve knows damn well that he’s, as he puts it, “awesomesauce.” Which Steve does. Whatever the hell _awesomesauce_ is, he’s quite sure it’s exactly what Bucky is.

What Steve isn’t sure about, is what part of Thursday he likes better. Dinner or what comes after dinner. 

The first Thursday after Steve had Bucky fill out the list, they talked a bit more about their limits and things they’d like to try. At first, Bucky was still a little huffy about it. Used to just going along with whatever his client wants.

“Oh come on, dude.” He sighs when they’re on the couch and Steve tells him he wants to have a talk about his likes and dislikes. “I already filled out your list, didn’t I?”

“Mhm,” Steve agrees. “So I got a basic idea. And now we’re going to _talk_ about it.”

“ _Why_?” Bucky whines. To up the bratty role, leaning on his knees to try to get his lips on Steve’s neck. 

Steve needs to move away and not let him. If he does, he’s pretty sure this talk’ll never happen. At least not tonight.

“ _Because_ I _said_ so.” Steve puts a bit of steel in his voice. “Now be a _good_ boy, sit still, and we’re gonna talk or I’m going to punish you.” Which he knows is okay since ‘punishment’ was marked ‘yes’ on the list.

Exhaling softly, Bucky whimpers a bit and sits back on his heels. Hands in his lap, his eyes flutter closed.

“Yes, sir.” He whispers. “But, there really aint all that much I wouldn’t let you do to me.”

“Because I’m paying? Or because you trust me? Cause, Bucky, I’d much rather it be because you trust me.”

His lips twist and Bucky nibbles on the inside of his cheek. Eyes big and sweet, he draws in a deep breath and tilts his head. 

“Bit’a both.” He admits. “But more cause I trust ya’.”

Heat pools in Steve belly at that. There’s no reason not to believe Bucky in what he says. He’s being paid, yes, but lying about something like this just doesn’t seem to make sense. Why would he? What has he to gain? Steve’s not going any where. He’s made it perfectly clear that he intends on remaining a customer, at least for now. Steve certainly has no intention to stop seeing him anytime soon. 

“How about you go first?” Bucky suggests. “That way I know what I’m working with.”

“Fair enough.” Steve says. “No body fluid activities,” Bucky quickly agrees to that. He’s mentioned it before and it was marked as ‘no’ on the list. “I don’t play with fire. Only opened hand impact and a couple of impact toys. No closed fists or whips. And nothing that’s gonna cause any serious harm.”

“Nothin’ that’ll leave permanent marks, okay?” Bucky requests. 

Steve agrees. That goes right up there with his own limits. No cutting or scarring. Anything like that.

“What else?”

“Um. I… no drugs. Not that I think you’re into drugs, just… please don’t make me try to use nothin’.”

Cold runs through Steve’s veins. This doesn’t sound like something Bucky simply doesn’t want to do. Sounds more like something he’s experienced firsthand.

“Has that happened? Has someone… I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want, I just…”

“Once.” Bucky interrupts. “A couple’a years ago. Had nothin’ to do with, y’know, my job or nothin’. I was just at a party that, okay, I wasn’t spose’ to be at. I didn’t know though. About the drugs. Steve, I don’t do drugs or nothin’,” He adds as though worried Steve might think such a thing. “The drinks were spiked with LSD.”

“What happened?”

“Uh, I just… I knew something was wrong and then I heard someone say it. I panicked and called Clint.” He chuckles darkly. “Clint was pissed I was there at all, didn’t put no blame on me though, but he came and got me. I seriously don’t remember much. Just that he held me all night and I was sick as shit the next morning.”

All Steve wants to do his hold him now. Hold him and run his hands over his head and promise that he’ll never do anything like that to him. Ever. _I’ll take care of you_ He wants to say.

Instead, he says, “Nothing illegal. Okay?”

Bucky’s mouth quirks up in a grin.

“Except me.” He winks. 

“Right,” Steve chuckles. “Except you.”

“That’s all I can really think of.” He shrugs. “I told ya the rest. If I come up with more, I’ll tell ya’.” Bucky licks his bottom lip and heaves himself onto Steve’s lap. “Now can we start talking about what you _want_ to do to me?”

Before Steve has a chance to say anything to that, Bucky’s sucking on his neck. Steve’s head falls onto the back of the couch as that mouth pulls marks onto his skin and Bucky’s hands start wandering up his shirt. His hips thrust up into Bucky’s crotch as they grind together.

Bucky drawls, “How bout’ it, Stevie? What’dya wanna do to your Bucky?”

Grabbing hold of Bucky’s waist, fingers digging deeply into his skin, Steve groans. 

“Gonna blindfold you…” He moans. Sucks in a deep breath when Bucky whimpers against him and tugs his shirt off. “Gag that pretty mouth so you can scream as loud as you want.”

That makes Bucky’s hips jerk hard against him. He’s nodding and whining tiny _yeses_ and _pleases_. Since he’s leaned against him, Steve uses the position to his advantage. He reaches into Bucky’s back pocket for a packet of lube and spreads some on his finger before slipping his hand into the back of his pants. Bucky wiggles a bit as he figures out what Steve’s after.

“You’d like that?” Steve asks. Teasing him a bit and keeping his finger just around his hole but not yet pushing in. “Hm? That something you’d like me to do?”

“Yes yes.” Bucky pants, trying to get his ass back enough to get onto Steve’s finger. “ _Please_ , Steve. Sir. Please, please.”

“I’ll make you kneel at my feet.” Steve says as he lets just the tip of his finger move into Bucky’s body. “You said you liked following orders. I’ll tell you what to do all night long, huh?”

“Oh _God_ , yes.”

Steve rewards his little cry by shoving his finger all the way in. Bucky hisses and shudders around him. 

“You want me to use toys on you, good boy?”

He moans and stutters out a few incoherent words until Steve slows his finger. Even starts to pull it out.

“Oh, no, no…” Bucky pleads. “Keep it there. I… yes, please. A… a cock ring? And…” Steve adds another finger “ _oh_ fuck…” He gasps and whines and rubs his face against Steve’s chest as he tries to keep going, “Uh… beads. Please? Oh god and a crop? Oh please use a crop on me, sir.”

“A riding crop? You’d like that?”

Before he gives Bucky the chance to answer, Steve scissors his fingers, curling them as he does. Bucky nearly shrieks his response.

“да!”

Steve chuckles. Has seen enough movies to know that little bit of Russian means yes. 

“I’m might use that cock ring on you, you know,” Steve murmurs right into Bucky’s ear. It’s not that easy. Not with Bucky thrusting up and down as he works his fingers in and out of him, but he’s managing to stay in control of himself and not toss him onto his couch and just pound into him. “Fuck this pretty ass with a vibrator. Or maybe just make you suffer for a while. Deny you the right to come _all_ night long. Maybe even ruin a few orgasms on you.”

“Oh yes… sir…” Bucky bites down on Steve’s shoulder. Not hard. Mostly just to stifle himself. “Do that. Oh please, sir. You’ll make me beg? Even be unfair sometimes?”

“Yes, baby, I can do that for you.” Steve cards his fingers through Bucky’s hair. Tugs hard enough to lift his head and kiss the corner of his mouth. “You’re gonna be a good boy for me?”

“да, да, yes, sir.” He whines. Loud and needy. “I’ll be… be so good. So good for you, sir.”

“Get your clothes off, good boy. And get mine off.”

They go on talking while they fool around. Bucky pleading for the things he wants Steve to do to him. Steve telling him the things he _wants_ to do to him. Which must be uncharted territory for Bucky since by the time they finish he seems to feel the need to double check that Steve’s okay with how he acted.

“You sure you’re okay with all that?” He asks the second Steve’s off to fetch some water, a blanket, some candy, and lotion--most of which Bucky’ll probably try to reject, but Steve’s not about to give up trying to provide some sort of after care for the kid.

He’s flat on his belly, arm hanging off the side of the couch and cheek pressed into the cushion. His eyes are closed, but it looks like he’s trying pretty hard to get them to open.

“With what, Buck?”

“Like, me tellin’ you what I want and all?” He wonders. “S’not something that usually goes on.”

Steve crouches down next to him and brushes the hair away from his face. Makes Bucky really open his eyes as though that’s the last thing he’s expecting.

“No one?” Steve questions. Seriously bemused that not one person would want to give this kid every damn thing he wants, whenever he wants it. “No one ever asks what you want?”

“Um, I mean, mostly it’s a ‘you like that?’,” Bucky makes his voice gruff and hard. Imitating whoever says these things to him. “‘Yeah, you like it like that, don’t you?’.” He smirks, as best he can given how worn out Steve’s got him. “That’s pretty much it.”

“Well, it’s what I want.” Steve assures him. “I want you to tell me what you want.” He leans in and kisses his temple. “And if you’re good, _maybe_ you’ll get it. Got it?”

Hiding his blush and grin in the helpful cushions, Bucky nods and lets his hair fall over the side of his face again.

“Yes, sir.” He whispers. 

Steve pets the top of his head. Murmurs, “Good boy,” and goes to get what he’d been in the process of getting.

Over the next few weeks, Steve gets Bucky to accept little bits of after care from him. Small doses. A blanket. Some water. Lotion along any bit of skin Steve feels the need to check. 

The night Steve bound Bucky’s wrists in rope, for example, then pounded him into the couch, Bucky’s legs up through his arms. Steve held tight to the ropes for balance with one hand and used the other to cover Bucky’s mouth--only after they discussed him humming the national anthem in lieu of a safe word. Kid’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he panted and moaned and screamed into Steve’s palm. His eyes only found Steve’s again when his body started trembling violently under Steve. They were wide and pleading. Just like the whines and whimpers that the moans and groans were turning into. Bucky’s attempts to convey his need for release with his mouth covered. 

Afterwards, when Steve untied the ropes and gently rubbed lotion over Bucky’s wrists, the kid didn’t protest all that much. Within a few minutes, he was even smiling that cute, shy smile of his. The one he tries to hide through his thick strands of hair. 

Their nights usually end the same. Steve can see some sort of conflict that runs through Bucky. There’s some unspoken rule or inner agreement he’s made with himself that he doesn’t want to break. A struggle of some sort between wanting to take Steve up on his offer to hold him--which he offers every time--and not wanting to want it. Feels as though Bucky’s trying to keep that one wall firm and strong. Steve’s not going to push, but it makes him nearly giddy as a school boy the time Bucky lets the top of his head brush up against his thigh as Steve rubs his back. His arm also conveniently slips off the side of the bed and his hand just happens to perch around his ankle and stay there. 

Steve’s biggest problem now is the elephant that’s started following him around. It’s doesn’t just sit in the room with him when Bucky is over. Thursday nights with the twenty-year-old sex worker Steve looks forward to seeing more and more each week. It follows him around everywhere. Day to day, class to class. At home, at work, even with his friends.

Because the reason he’s come back to Brooklyn, back _home_ , where his friends are and a future awaits, is to _find_ that future. Figure out where he’s going and what he’s headed for. Yet, for all intents and purposes, all Steve cares about is Thursday and all the few quick hours he gets to spend with Bucky. 

When he’s not with Bucky, he’s thinking about him. And worried about him. Is he safe? Is someone hurting him? Did he get home at night? Every time Bucky leaves, Steve fears for his safety. 

No matter what he does, Steve’s elephant has made itself warm and cozy. And Steve refuses to acknowledge it. 

***

Fall in New York is something Steve didn’t realize he missed a lot until it’s in full bloom. Fingers of chilly air that reach out and tickle his cheeks and nose. Turn them bright pink and give him, what his mama used to call, a rabbit’s face. Warm coffees pressed against his gloved hands and crisp scents of the incoming winter. 

Brooklyn doesn’t quite hold the picturesque feel of the season. Those images one sees on a calendar of grand trees of gold and maroon glazed leaves. Burning with the sun in magnificent radiance. Since no one ever thinks of Brooklyn in the fall. But the boro has it’s own unique flavor during the time. 

The strong scents of chestnuts cooking. Steam starting to dance out of the manholes. Fallen leaves from the spaced out trees in front of historic brownstones. Sunsets of golden hues that cast rays of lights along the urban forest. It’s stunning. 

Steve has a cup of coffee from the little coffee hut he favors as he makes his way through the student center on this particularly chilly Wednesday. The place has been hit or miss recently. Some days it’s packed to the brim with people. Filled with noise and laughter and chatter. Others it’s pretty quiet. A nice, laidback environment. Good for getting some work done or just relaxing for a little while.

Today, it’s not too bad and Steve’s able to get himself a small table. Which is nice since he’s trying to mentally prepare himself for today’s lab. Not so much because he’s going to be working with Bucky, though that is always something he needs to get his head on straight for, but for the lab they’ll be doing in particular. It’s not exactly the most pleasant. Dissecting a fetal pig isn’t exactly big on Steve’s bucket list. 

They got the lab itself on Monday, so Steve figures it’ll be good to run over it as best he can before he gets there. Bucky might be brilliant enough to fly through these damn things like it’s nothing, but considering the content of today’s lab--and the fact that it’s going to take three weeks to fully get through--Steve would like to be really prepared for this one. 

He’s in the process of highlighting which body regions they’ll be needing to locate when someone taps him on the shoulder. Steve is so absorbed in what he’s doing that he nearly jumps.

“Oh, shit,” He chuckles when he sees who’s standing there. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, no, that’s fine,” Sharon says with a giggle of her own. “I didn’t mean to startle you. How are you, Steve?”

Ever since their run-in at the bar that night, Steve’s spends a bit of time talking with Sharon before their professor arrives. She’s always a delight. And Steve thinks the funniest thing that’s happened so far all semester is when another one of their classmates, big, goon of a guy, kept insisting that she go out for a cup of coffee with him until he tried to touch her waist and she twisted his fingers around so quick and hard Steve thought she’d be able to break them if she tried. 

“I’m okay.” Steve answers and waves his hands over his papers. “Just getting ready for the most pleasant lab of my life.”

She cranes her neck to get a look at what he’s doing. It only takes her a second to understand and her eyes go wide.

“Oh I _love_ that lab!” She proclaims. Big, excited smile growing on her face.

Steve blinks at her and tries not to smile since that was definitely not the reaction he was expecting. He’d never expect _anyone_ get so excited over something like a dissection.

“Have you done it?”

“Well no, not that one.” Sharon explains. “But I was in Advanced Bio in high school. We did cats.”

“Cats?”

He doesn’t mean to make a face. It happens though. Nose crinkling and mouth crumpling up. Steve’s pretty sure he’d remember if that’s something that they did in his high school.

“Yeah. Ugh, it smelled horrible.” She laughs, and Steve can see she’s, at least somewhat, amused by his reaction. “Especially because we did it at the end of the year so it was really hot.”

“Oh yeah, sure, the smell.” Steve shakes his head. “I’ll bet _that_ was the worst of it.”

Sharon laughs and asks if she can join him. Offers to give him some pointers.

“Not quite the same, obviously,” She points out as Steve clears some space on the table for her to put her things down. “But maybe I can help you go in there knowing a bit of what to expect.”

What she has to say really does help him. Steve wouldn’t have expected the rigormortis and having to tie limbs down. He most definitely would have thought any oozing was from the pig itself and not just the preservatives added to it. She advises to cover the head with something once they’re done examining it.

“It can make things a little easier,” She explains. “Y’know, not having to see the face. Dunno what the pig’ll look like, but the cat _was_ a little upsetting. Some kids start crying.”

“Oh well, I mean, how _dare_ they.”

“Hey now!” She holds her finger out. “I _said_ it was upsetting.” 

Steve laughs. “Yeah, yeah. You seem very torn up about it.”

“Alright, so I never had a cat,” Sharon shrugs. “But I’ll have you know my hamster lived quite happily…” She scrunches up her face and rocks her head back and forth a bit. “Until that unfortunate incident.”

“Oh no.” Steve holds in another laugh. “What happened?”

“Ah-ah.” She shakes her head. “I’ll save that story for another time. So, Steve, what’re your plans for tomorrow? Thanksgiving dinner with the family?”

Stomach bunching up, Steve does his best to ignore the nausea that rocks through him. He takes another sip of his coffee. It tries to sooth him as it runs down his throat. Not as warm as it was before, but still hoping to be something of a comfort.

He could always just tell her no. No, he has no plans. No blood family to speak of. That he hasn’t had a Thanksgiving dinner since his senior year of high school and has done the same thing every year since. 

Steve doesn’t though. He doesn’t tell her that his mama died ten years ago and Thanksgiving just doesn’t… it doesn’t…

“Yeah.” He whispers and asks the follow up question quick enough so that he doesn’t need to give any more information than that. “And you? Are you going to be with family?”

“I’ll be going upstate,” She tells him. “To my aunt’s house in Westchester.”

“You… you’re not leaving tomorrow, are you?”

That’ll be hell trying to get there in the morning. Not that Westchester’s all that far. Lower Hudson Valley and all, but trying to get there on Thanksgiving morning’ll be bad. 

“No, no.” She assures him. “I’m leaving today.”

Better, but not by much. Poor Sharon’s gonna hit a ton of traffic if she leaves later today. Steve does _not_ envy her.

“Hey, I tell you what,” He says. “You do my lab for me and I’ll sit in all the traffic for you.”

That makes her laugh. Her eyes lighting up with that pretty sparkle. Even though the offer is completely ludicrous and a simple joke, Steve would have no intention of actually ever upholding it. Not when he gets the hour and fifteen minutes of lab time with Bucky. 

“As much as I would love to get to do a dissection the day before Thanksgiving,” She brushes his arm sweetly, “I’m actually headed off when I leave here. My luggage is in the car. I was on my way to the parking lot, but I saw you sitting here. Thought I’d stop and say hello.”

“O-oh…” A blush fills Steve’s face. He’s not sure why. Just like the first time they spoke one on one like this, it’s only occurring to him now that he might want to feel nervous. So now he does. “Um… okay.”

There’s a smile on his face, Steve knows that much, but, for the life of him, he can’t think of a damn word to say now. Wasn’t a problem just a few minutes ago. Now his stomach is bubbling and he’s bouncing his knee.

“I hope that’s okay.” 

“Yes!” Steve says a bit too enthusiastically to not be embarrassing. He clears his throat and ties to save some dignity. “I mean, yeah. Yeah, I’m glad you stopped by. Who else would have told me that I should expect to have to tie the pig’s limbs down?”

“Well, probably your professor,” She laughs. “You’re not just gonna walk in there and find a bunch of pigs on the desks. Which you’ll be finding out in approximately fifteen minutes.”

Steve quickly glances up at the clock on the wall. Damn. She’s right. Class is going to start really soon.

“Damn it,” He mutters. Steve starts to pack up his papers and then breathes out a chuckle. “Had no idea how long we were sitting here.”

“Neither did I.” Sharon agrees as she gathers up her things as well. “It’s always nice talking to you. Maybe we can do it more often when we see each other around.”

Tossing his backpack over his shoulder, Steve opens his mouth to answer, but can only smile for a second.

“Yeah, I’d, um, I’d like that.” He scratches the back of his neck as they head towards the exit together. “Besides, you need to tell me what happened to your hamster.”

Sharon laughs and pushes the doors open before Steve has a chance to get to them first. Those are the sort of things Steve likes to do for people--gender notwithstanding. Opening doors, pulling out chairs, helping someone in and out of coats. Makes Steve feel good to put a smile on their face when he does it. 

“You’ll get it one day.” She promises. “Well, I’m headed that way,” Sharon points in the opposite direction he needs to go. “Good luck with your lab!”

“Thanks, Sharon. Hope you don’t hit too much traffic. Get there safe.”

“Aw, thanks, Steve.” She smiles and adds a sweet touch to his bicep. “Oh and have a Happy Thanksgiving!”

“Y-yeah.” Steve’s throat feels tight. He hasn’t said those words out loud in a decade. Texted them, typed them, sure. But not said them. Not when Mama can’t say them back. It makes him nauseous to think about it. “You, too.”

Sharon waves over her shoulder as she heads on her way. The unease in Steve’s stomach slowly fades away. He takes in a deep breath before making his way to his class.

Bucky’s already in the room by the time Steve gets there. Steve’s hat on his head. Which should make Steve laugh and feel good, but he’s over talking with that Jim kid. Completely bent over the side of the desk, propped up on folded arms while Jim sits in his seat. Bucky’s giggling, lip tucked under his teeth, as he reaches over to run his fingers through Jim’s hair. 

Something inside Steve aches. His pet elephant creeps closer. Nudges him in the side and is either trying to remind him that Bucky isn’t his or trying to make him jealous that Bucky isn’t his. Either way, Bucky isn’t his. Steve can’t just stop and gawk at him without making himself seem like a fool. 

So he keeps on walking through the room, not calling any attention to himself. Bucky hasn’t even noticed him. Which is a saving grace for Steve, since he’s pretty sure his complexion might be a bit green at the moment. Except when he’s near Bucky, Bucky’s hand goes right for his own head. So that Steve’s unable to take his--or _Steve’s_ , rather--hat off. Bucky goes right on talking to Jim. Doesn’t look up at Steve, doesn’t miss a beat of flirting, doesn’t indicate in any other way he knows Steve’s there. Bucky just keeps his hand on the hat so that Steve can’t take it from him. Steve goes to his seat smiling, sharing his own private greeting with Bucky. 

Right, so, Sharon may have given him a few tips and pointers, and they went through the lab together, but nothing can really prepare Steve for having to take the actual dissection kit out. He places it carefully on the table top and pushes it to the far end as though it might open and attack him. High school may have taken care of earthworms and frogs, but a pig is just a little different. He’s really not looking forward to doing this. 

When Bucky joins him, he plops down in his seat with a sigh--which has become something of a regular occurrence. Bucky indicating his impending boredom and subsequence brattiness that follows. He opens his mouth and Steve readies himself for some smart ass comment, given the spark in the kid’s eyes, but he snaps it shut before uttering a syllable. His eyes find something of more interest but that spark never goes away.

“Red.” He murmurs.

An instinctive reaction to the word, and the person saying it, has Steve nearly holding his breath. Everything feels as though it needs to stop, even though there’s nothing happening. 

Steve rattles his head. Stomach clenching hard and eyes going wide, he knows that Bucky’s uttering their safeword. He just can’t imagine why or what would make him bring something like that up here. It can’t be anything serious though since his expression simply leads to Bucky snickering.

“I can use that to keep you from slicing and dicing me to bits, too?” He asks. “Or do I need to explicitly state that as a no-no?”

“What?” Steve clears his throat. The initial shock of hearing Bucky say the word ‘red’ wearing away. “What’re you talking about?”

Bucky jerks his chin towards the end of the table. Still chuckling at he does. 

“What’s with the scary tool kit?” He asks. “You’re not gonna try to chop me up, right?”

Looking over at the culprit, Steve taps the dissection kit with the tips of his fingers. Given that Bucky’s come with his usual things--few pens in his pockets, notebook, the lab--it doesn’t look like he has one of his own. 

“It’s for the lab, you dope.” Steve laughs. “We’re doing the pig one today.”

Bucky starts looking around the room. Must notice that lots of their classmates now has their kits up on their table.

“Wait… the pig lab? What does that mean?” Bucky’s face falls when Professor Grey starts lining up the trays all set up with everything they need. _Everything_. “You mean… shit, you mean we actually cut them up?” 

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve says gently. Bucky’s eyes are wide. Glossy and panicked. “What’d you think we were doing? Didn’t you see it on the syllabus? And we talked about it last Wednesday.”

“But…” He takes in a deep breath. Bucky’s still eyeing the room like something in it will pop out and tell him this whole thing is just a dream. “It just said the fetal pig lab. That’s all anyone ever said! I thought… I thought it was just a virtual lab! That we’d do it on the computer like in high school!”

“No, that’s why we needed to buy this.” Steve lifts up the dissection kit. “You don’t have one, huh?”

“No.” He whimpers.

“You did this on a computer?” He wonders as Professor Grey begins to call each table up one by one to get their tray. “In high school?”

“The frog thing, yeah.” Bucky whispers. 

Steve is suddenly hit with a wave of sympathy. Bucky seriously had no clue what they were up to today. He can see what happened with that syllabus of his. He got it, skimmed it and probably chucked it somewhere. The kid’s smart, quite possibly brilliant, but lazy. Doesn’t really need to come in knowing what each lesson is going to be in order to actually be mentally prepared for it. Every time it’s been brought up, it’s just been called the fetal pig lab. In Bucky’s defence, not one person mentioned a thing about dissection. 

“Rogers, Barnes,” Professor Grey calls for them to come get their supplies. “Come on up.”

“I got it,” Steve offers.

He takes his time going to get the tray. On his way back, Steve takes care to keep an eye on Bucky. His face is crinkled up and it looks like he wants absolutely nothing to do with the contents Steve’s bringing over. When Steve sits back down with it, Bucky’s doing his best to just stare straight ahead. 

After a brief video and Professor Grey’s quick overview of what needs to be done, they’re told to get started and Bucky lets out a quiet whine.

“Bucky, you don’t have to do anything,” Steve assures him. “Just read the questions and write down what I say.”

Bucky draws in a deep breath. Followed by another before turning a bit in his seat. He shakes his head and pulls the dissection kit over.

“I’m fine.” He mumbles. “What’d we gotta…”

“We don’t need that yet.” He tells him. “First we have to tie the limbs down.”

He hears Bucky breathe out roughly and reach out to help him with that. Steve tells him just to tie the knot where it needs to go while he actually pushes the limbs down. 

They get through the external examination fairly quickly. Locating all the parts they need to and determining the sex of the pig. Steve writes everything down in his own lab while Bucky’s goes untouched. Poor Bucky needs to keep taking in deep breaths, letting them go very slowly. He must keep forgetting how horrible the smell is--because it really smells rancid in the room at the moment--since he continuously goes to take those deep breaths in through his nose. When he does, he gags on the air and pinches it closed, trying to cover his with the rest of his hand. A few times, Steve goes to put a hand on his back. Rub it gently. Offer a bit of support. Each time he tries, Bucky tenses and shakes his head.

Professor Grey walks around the room, offering advice and making sure everything is going smoothly. There are several people who are reacting similarly to Bucky. One girl is just sitting with her arms crossed and eyes closed. Another is participating but crying silently. A guy at the front of the room is rubbing his temples like he might be getting a bad headache. There’s one who with his hand over his mouth as though trying to keep from getting sick. 

Things get a little rough when it comes time to actually do the dissection. When Steve reads out loud what it is that they’re going to do, Bucky sighs and reaches for the scalpel. Steve can see the jeers and taunts coming from all the rest of the tools. 

“What’re you…”

“Where do I cut?” Bucky asks. “Just tell me what to do.”

He’s got the blade in the general area, but his hand is trembling. Steve holds onto Bucky’s forearm for a moment, just to subtly let him know that he’s there before letting his hand drift down towards his wrist.

“I’ll do it, Buck. It’s alright.”

At first it looks like he might protest. But he doesn’t. After a moment--and Steve’s pretty sure they’re both holding their breath--Bucky lets him take the scalpel from him. Steve leans over to flip Bucky’s lab open to the page they’re on. 

“Just read to me, okay?”

“But we’re supposed to do it together.” He argues. Sounds both irritated and heartbroken at the same time. Completely set on doing this with Steve and not letting his faint of heart get the best of him. So he takes the ugly probe from the kit and says, “W-which… thing do we, uh, look at… first?”

His voice trails off at the end of his question. Steve can barely even hear the last word. There’s no way he’s going to put him through this. Bucky looks like he wants to vomit. 

“Bucky, you don’t have to do this part. Read the lab to me.”

“But…” 

“Be a _good_ boy, Bucky,” Steve states calmly, just a hint of firmness to his voice. “ _Read_.”

Bucky’s eyes snap up to him. For just a few seconds, he stares at him. Confused and slightly rattled. Then the confusion seems to clear, giving way to direction. A clear cut goal. Steve words giving him an anchor to where he needs to be and what he needs to do. Bucky gets a little more color to his cheeks. He’s been white as a sheet. Sweat dotting his brow. He puts the tool down. It makes a little annoyed sound as it hits the desk.

“Yes, sir,” He whispers and hovers himself over the lab. 

His voice is jagged and weak the whole time, but Bucky manages to get out what it is Steve should be doing. It’s not exactly what Steve would describe as enjoyable. In fact, if it was up to him, he’d have Sharon in here doing this part while he held Bucky and wrinkled his face at what was going on. As it is, Sharon is not here, the scalpel is heavy and mean in his grip, but he’s not about to make Bucky suffer through this any more than he needs to. So Steve’s sucks it up and does what needs to be done.

“Oh God…” Bucky whimpers. Horrified. Even on the verge of tears when Steve is cutting. “It… it’s bleeding…”

“No, no. It’s not.” Steve assures him. _Thank you, Sharon_. “It’s just from the chemicals. It’s not from the body.”

“Are you…” His lower lip quivers. “You promise?”

God he looks so small and frightened right now. Like if Steve doesn’t make this promise to him his heart might shatter. 

“Yes, baby, I promise. It’s not what you think.”

“Okay.” Bucky whispers. Sniffles, too, as though he’s desperate to hold in those tears. 

“You’re doing so good, sweet boy,” Steve praises and that manages to make Bucky’s lips lift a little. “What do I do next?”

Still focused on the lab, Bucky reads the instructions and Steve continues with it.

They go on with the lab in such a fashion. Whatever the directions are, Bucky’ll read them out loud and Steve will perform the task. For a little while, Bucky keeps stealing glances over at what Steve’s doing. Everytime he does, Steve is met with a disgusted gag or whine. There’s almost no color in his lips again.

“Stop looking over.” Steve orders. “If you keep doing that, I’m going to punish you.”

It’s not what Steve was going to say. His first thought was the chocolate in his bag. A bit of bribery. Positive reinforcement. But that works best when Bucky’s joking around. Playing the bratty role. This is different. Bucky’s said he likes punishment play, but he also wants to be good. He likes praises and compliments. 

Just like Steve suspected and hoped, he gets a small “yes, sir. m’sorry” and Bucky stops. For the remaining thirty minutes, he trains his eyes on the papers and only the papers. Any attempt he makes to peer over for a quick glimpse to quench morbid curiosity is overwhelmed by his desire to stay good and do as Steve’s instructed. 

The only other physical thing Steve allows him to assist him in is packing things up. Even then, he just has him open the bag that they’ll be sealing everything in to keep safe until next week. 

“How long do we have to do this?” Bucky asks once everything is sealed up. 

He’s got his head resting on the desk, his cheek pressed up against the cool, black top. Steve can see his breath fogging across it. Fast bursts of condensation that retreat almost as quickly as it spreads. 

“Two more times.” Steve murmurs as he gathers the tools to take to the sink for washing. “You did really well today, okay? We’ll do it just like this again next week. You’ll be a good boy and read the instructions to me, alright?”

Head still down on the desk, Bucky nods. Even with everything packed away, he still looks sick. Very sick. 

“I’m proud of you.” Steve says before going off to clean everything. Looks like Bucky tries to smile but just doesn’t have the strength. 

By the time he’s finished, Bucky’s seat is empty. Steve glances around the room. Several people have already left and Bucky’s no where to be seen. He’d much rather know, see for himself, that Bucky’s feeling better, but if the kid needed to get out of the room to start feeling that, Steve can’t blame him. He just gathers his things and heads out himself.

The cool air definitely helps clear Steve’s head. If he wasn’t so worried about Bucky back there, he’s not too sure if he’d have been able to complete the lab by himself like that. Being outside makes him realize just how light headed and sick to his stomach he’s been feeling. Pigs are definitely different than frogs.

As he walks towards the parking lot, he notices someone at the bus stop on the corner. It’s easy to tell it’s Bucky. Steve might be able to recognize him anywhere, especially with his hat on his head and all. He’s standing alone. Swaying from side to side, and Steve breaks into a sprint. 

“Hey, hey,” He says, keeping the panic out of his voice as to not alarm him. Steve puts his arms on Bucky’s shoulders to keep him from rocking that way. “Bucky? Are okay?”

The answer is no. Bucky’s still white. Damn near translucent. Veins mapped out along his skin and blood pulsing hard through his body. His eyes are closing and opening, as though he can’t figure out how to keep them one way or the other. 

“Don’t feel good…” Bucky whispers. So light an angry wind could easily drown it out.

“Are you gonna be sick? Pass out?”

Bucky whines once and scrunches his face. His jaw is clenched tight as though that’ll keep any illness from coming up. 

“Dunno.”

“Come on.”

When Steve wraps his arm around his waist to keep Bucky’s weight on him, Bucky groans and almost pushes away. But once they start moving, he whimpers a bit and clings onto him.

“Don’t wanna go to the hospital.” He mutters into Steve’s side. “Please, Steve?”

“As long as you don’t pass out, I won’t bring you to one. Just stay with me, okay?”

“Mhm.”

Since it’s the day before Thanksgiving, the campus is fairly empty. Steve is able to get them to his car quickly and help Bucky into it with a fair bit of ease.

“Still with me, Buck?” He asks as gets himself in the driver’s seat. Reaches over to put his hand across Bucky’s brow. His skin is cool and clammy. “Bucky?”

“Mm.” Bucky grunts. Might be too difficult to answer without feeling sick.

“Alright. I’m going to talk to you though,” Steve says as he pulls out of the spot. “If you stop answering, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

Bucky sniffles and his voice cracks when he answers, “Please. No hospital.”

“Just keep talking to me then.”

Steve’s place is about ten minutes away. He makes it in seven and _might_ have went through that just-turned-red light. All he’s concerned with is Bucky. Is he going to pass out on him? Get sick? Has this happened before? Often? Is is something Bucky’s used to? He tries asking on the way, but the most he can get out of him at the moment are a few grunts and groans. 

“Can you make it up the stairs, Bucky?” Steve asks.

He’s helping him out of the car. Steve thinks about the mean stairs he needs to get Bucky up. Not that many, but still. They’ll be cruel today. 

“Yeah.” Bucky replies and lets his weight fall against Steve again.

They make it up the stairs without any difficulties. Steve brings Bucky to the couch and he’s been here enough to know just when they’re at it. He lets go of his tight hold on Steve and crawls onto the cushions. Sweet and happy to help him along. Holding him in ways that Steve can’t. 

“Just rest for a second.” Steve instructs. “I’ll be right back.”

Bucky lifts his fingers, but doesn’t say anything as Steve hurries to the kitchen. There, he grabs a bottle of water and a cool compress from the freezer. Looks like it doesn’t just have to be used for Steve’s migraines. 

Back in the living room, Bucky’s sprawled out on the couch, one arm slung over his eyes, the other hanging off the side. The carpet is kind enough to cover his footsteps and not startle Bucky as Steve comes back. He crouches at Bucky’s side and gently coaxes Bucky’s arm away from his face.

“This is gonna feel cold, kay?”

Bucky nods and allows Steve to place the compress over his forehead. He moans again, but this time it sounds more relieved. Not wanting him to overheat, Steve unbuttons Bucky’s jacket and gently shimmies him out of it. Bucky helps as best he can. Which isn’t much, but he maneuvers the best he can without making himself feel worse. 

“Are you feeling any better?”

“Yes.” Bucky whispers. “Just need to rest.”

“Alright. Here.” He sets the water down next to him, but makes sure to put his hand over the top of it. “Water. I’m gonna sit on the other end of the couch, okay?”

“Mhm.” 

For a good fifteen minutes, Steve just sits at the end of the couch, keeping an eye on the kid resting there. Everytime Bucky so much as takes a heavy breath, he’s ready to scoop him up and ask if he’s okay. But as the minutes melt away, the color blooms back in Bucky’s cheeks. The sweat dries and his breathing evens. 

A long, whiney groan breaks from Bucky’s lungs and that’s the most vocal Steve’s heard him since he first sat down next to him in class. This sounds more disgruntled than distressed though. Steve’s worry lessens. Though the compress is still over his head, just covering his eyes, Bucky’s pouting now. After another huff, he uses just one finger to peek out from under the compress. Only one eye looks at Steve. Playful and sparkling.

“You must think I’m such a fuckin’ loser.” He mutters. Using that adorably small voice of his. Aims for mercy and pity, Steve thinks. 

Steve chuckles. “Why would I think that?”

He lets the compress fall back down--not realizing that the ice is still frozen so it smacks his nose a bit--and sighs.

“Almost faintin’ over a freakin’ lab.” He groans. “M’sorry. I should’ve warned ya’ or somethin’.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Bucky.” Steve assures him. “How could you have known?”

“Everyone else knew what we were doin’.”

Steve pats his ankle. Requests that Bucky take a drink before addressing that directly. Without taking the compress away, and very ungracefully using one hand, Bucky gets the water open and takes a sip. 

“That’s cause other people were paying attention.”

“I pay attention!” He whines. Lifts the compress a little more this time and looks at Steve. His eyes are just as pouty as the rest of him. “I really thought we were doin’ it on the computer! I swear!”

“You really did it on a computer in high school?”

“Yes!” He exclaims. “We did! I didn’t have to cut into any frogs.” Bucky twists his face up. “Might be hard for you to imagine, grandpa, but in _my_ high school, we had these labs with all these _computers_ in it.”

“Y’know, kid, if you weren’t feeling sick I’d be tickling you right now.”

Which Steve _knows_ he’s a sucker for. From accidental experience. Steve had just brushed his fingers under Bucky’s ribs one night when he was over and made him jerk about and yelp with an embarrassing squeak. When Steve realized what happened, he tested his theory and found that tickling Bucky is an extraordinary activity. Bursts of giggles and a squirming body and tiny pleads of mercy. Thing about ticking Bucky is that rather than trying to get _away_ from Steve, he tends to _curl into_ him instead. Like getting closer and cuddling with chase the tickles away. 

Sometimes he’ll stay like that for a little bit. Cuddled up in Steve’s lap, Steve’s arms swathed around him, head on Steve’s chest or shoulder. That’s _before_ the sex. Post-dinner moments of soft chit chat and channel surfing as they ease into the evening--or Steve does, since Bucky is almost always at ease. Seems a bit of affection before sex is easier for Bucky to handle than what Steve tries to offer after.

“I…” Bucky blushes and turns his head. Cheek smothered into the cushion. “I, uh, it’s a good thing I’m so sick.” He fakes an exaggerated moan, holds his stomach and presses the compress into his head. “ _Help me, Stevie_! Puh-lease!”

Steve chuckles and gently swats Bucky’s thigh. 

“You’re such a jerk.”

Laughing from under the compress, Bucky finally removes it and goes to sit up. Steve holds his hand out. Tells him to go slow. Bucky nods and eases himself back up, but doesn’t take Steve’s assistance. 

“I know. Don’t need a head rush after that.”

“Has that happened to you before? Getting sick like that?”

Bucky shrugs. “I mean, I’m just not a big fan of someone’s insides being on the outside. Neither is my stomach. First time it happened was when I was real little. I had to go with my dad to the doctor and when he had blood taken? Down I went. Woke up a little while later in my bed. Pop said I was green.” He chuckles to himself. “I got scared cause thought I was turnin’ into that comic book character. Y’know that one? The Hulk?”

“Yeah, I know him.”

Steve’s voice even sounds far away to his own ears so it isn’t any wonder that Bucky turns to look at him. Brow furrowed. It’s just… that’s the first time Bucky’s ever mentioned his dad. Always just ‘Mom’ and ‘Becky’. Little drips and drabs of his family back on Long Island. Steve badly wants to ask more about him.

“You okay, dude?”

The only answer he gives is a nod of his head and a request that Bucky drink more water. Which he does. 

“I’m better now, Steve.” He assures him. “Not gonna happen again.” Bucky’s lips twist a bit. “Y’know, there was somethin’ I wanted to talk to ya about though.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve straightens up a bit. Bucky sounds a little worried. Not much, but it’s there. “What’s that?”

“Well, tomorrow…” He starts, but chews the inside of his cheek before going on. “I mean, tomorrow’s our night and all.” _Our night_. God that sounds so fucking perfect and all wrong at the same time. A bittersweet symphony that plays along the very edge of Steve’s heart. “But it’s kinda Thanksgiving?”

Bucky peaks over at him and Steve already understands his completely unnecessary dilemma. It never occurred to him though, which makes Steve feel like a selfish asshole for just assuming that everything would be the same tomorrow. 

“Buck, you’re not actually asking me if it’s _okay_ to go be with your family for Thanksgiving instead of being here, are you?”

The blank look on his face confuses Steve. Looks as though that answer’s the very last one he expected. But, in some way, he must have anticipated some sort of inevitable disappointment since that shows on his expression next. 

“I mean, I can get back here if I hurry.” He says softly to his fingers. “Might, uh, might be a few minutes late, but I’ll stay to make it up so you get your money’s…”

“No, Bucky, that…” Steve realizes he’s misunderstood. “That’s not what I meant. I meant that it’s silly for you to think you needed to _ask_ me if it was okay to go out to spend the day with your family. _Of course_ I won’t mind. _You_ come first, Bucky.”

The relief is immediate and evident. Not because Bucky doesn’t want to come over tomorrow, but for Steve’s understanding. Then his lips curl up in a sneaky, little smirk.

“Unless you say otherwise, right? Sir?”

“Unless I…? Oh.” Steve snorts at his unintentional sexual innuendo and Bucky’s oh-so-mature remark. “Ha ha, smart ass.” He narrows his eyes at him though and hardens his voice just enough that usually produces a reaction. “That’s right. Because _good boys_ only come when they’re told.” His voice softens a little when he pets the top of Bucky’s head. “And you _like_ being my good boy, don’t you?”

There’s a tiny whimper with Bucky’s next exhale and he leans in to Steve’s touch. Bucky shifts his hips a bit to remain comfortable. He stirs his head about, something like a cat, under Steve’s hand and sighs softly. 

“Yes, sir.” He whispers. 

It’d be so damn easy to just lean over and kiss him right now. Bucky looks so calm and peaceful. Blissfully unaware of the rest of the world while being touched like that. Whatever troubles he’s worried about, problems he covers with a smug grin and an ever-lovely twinkle in his eyes, drift away and leave him free while being pet like this. They’ve never discussed anything that might give him cause to be stressed, but Steve’s sure Bucky has his own. He’s slipped every now and then. Elluded to a less carefree existence than he gives off. 

Then Bucky pulls away as though he’s just been woken from a most intense dream. Maybe not really a nightmare. But something so intense he needed to wake up. The world comes back to him hard and fast. For the both of them really since Steve felt far-off and disconnected as well. 

“I should go.” He mumbles. Already getting off the couch.The bottle of water clenched in his hands. “Thanks for your help.”

He’s pulling his coat back on. Trying to button it and having the buttons fight back. 

“You know, I can drive you if you want? Maybe just back to campus?” Steve offers.

Bucky laughs. “That’d actually take me _further_ from home. I can walk from here.”

“Oh. Okay then.” Steve considers asking him to stay. Even thinks about how much cash he has on him. But instead he nods and walks him to the door. “Have a good time tomorrow.”

Even Steve can’t miss the dejection in his voice. He doesn’t mean for it to be there. The sinking feeling that’s running through him has a lot more to do with tomorrow than not seeing Bucky. 

Bucky’s paused at the opened door. Hand around the knob, he looks up at Steve with an apology all over his face.

“I’m sorry I can’t make it.” He gives him a grin and must want the thickness in the atmosphere to lighten since he adds a cute little laugh. “But, hey, you must have plans anyway, right? Seeing your family and all.”

“Uh, no, actually, I’m not doing anything.”

Just like that. Steve just came out and said it when he lied to Sharon and couldn’t admit that there’s nothing for him on Thanksgiving. Which isn’t _entirely_ true, given that Sam and Maria have insisted that they’ll forgo dinner at the Wilson’s to have a dinner at home with Steve, he’s had several invites from Mrs. Wilson herself to join them there, and Tony and Pepper have invited him a bunch of times to join some fancy set up they have going on over at Stark Industries for their employees and families. Steve’s politely declined every time.

“Wait what?” Bucky rattles his head and takes a step back into Steve’s place. “You got nothing to do?”

“No. Not since…” The words lodge in his throat. He’s never told anyone who didn’t already know, “my mom died. Thanksgiving was her favorite holiday. I just…” Steve shrugs. “Haven’t felt like celebrating.”

“Oh.” He glances down at his feet. Even though Steve can’t see his face clearly, he thinks Bucky’s running over things in his head. “So then, you’re gonna be alone?”

Steve shrugs. 

“Yeah, but it’s okay.” He still looks like he’s thinking hard about something. It makes a little furrow in between his eyebrows that Steve wants to rub away with his fingers. “What about tonight?” Maybe a distraction will clear the apprehension. “Are you working or do you have plans to go out?” 

Steve may not have experienced college as a young adult, but he knows damn well that tonight happens to be one of the biggest party nights of the year. Kids back home from schools for the first longer stretch of time. Steve’s gotten into his own fair share of Thanksgiving Eve shenanigans. 

“Oh hell no. I’m not working.” Bucky shares a laugh. Strained though. “I’m going out with Nat and Clint. Meeting some old buddies from school; Peter, Harry, Gwen, and MJ. Haven’t seen ‘em since August.”

“Going out some place nice?” Steve asks. “Maybe I can get my hat back?” 

He jostles Bucky a bit and pretends to try to take his hat off his head. The second Steve goes to lift it, Bucky snaps completely back to life and gasps. 

“Hey, no!” He squeaks. “It’s cold out! I need it!” Bucky secures it to his head. “And anyways, it makes me look good. Completely adorable.”

Steve laughs and backs off. Leaves the hat where it is and rests against the doorframe.

“Uh-huh.” He shakes his head and waves him off. “Go on, get outta here.” Steve tells him. “Have a good time with your friends tonight.”

“Hey, _thanks_ , grandpa!” Bucky teases. “Enjoy your prune juice and NCIS marathon!”

“Oh shut up.” Steve scoffs. “I’ve never watched it once.” He pretends to straighten up with an indignant mug. “I’m a CSI man.” Bucky laughs and Steve chuckles along. “Have fun tomorrow. Seeing your family. Be safe tonight, too.”

“Yeah, yeah, narc, I got it.” Bucky replies as he steps out into the hall.

He’s reaching into his pockets. For his cigarettes, Steve presumes. Bucky stops when he notices Steve staring at him.

“What?”

“Why don’t you wait for that?” Steve suggests. Though he’d really like to say ditch the habit cause it’s bad for you and you know that and you shouldn’t be doing it. “You weren’t feeling good.”

Bucky sighs, but shoves the pack back into his pocket. Holds his palms out in defeat.

“Kay. I’ll wait a while if it makes you happy.” 

“Aren’t you such a martyr.” 

He throws Steve a smile and starts down the hall.

“Thanks for today, Steve. See you Monday.”

“Bye, Buck.”

Once he’s around the corner, Steve moves back into his apartment and leans back up against the door. He’s got plans tonight with Sam, Tony and Rhodey--back in town for the holiday. Just the guys hanging around for a few drinks. Tonight’ll be fine. Tonight he’s not worried about. 

It’s tomorrow that Steve’s dreading. One of his least favorite days of the year. 

***

The alarm on Steve’s phone is going off. He must have forgotten to turn it off before getting into bed last night. After several beers, hot wings and pizza, and many not-always-friendly rounds of Mario Party. He grunts as he reaches for it--considers flinging it across the room for rudely waking him when he didn’t need to be awake--and turns back into his pillows. Falls back to sleep like he intends to do all day.

His phone going off wakes him again. Steve sighs and rolls over, blankets tangling around him and snaring him in their possessive grip. Takes Steve a few seconds, but he wrestles out of them and manages to grab the phone off the nightstand. Bucky’s name flashes across the screen. A text message at eight in the morning. Steve rubs the bottom of his palm into his eye as he clicks on it. Eyes go wide at the picture and then he bursts out laughing because of the ridiculous caption.

It’s a cock shot. Bucky’s, of course. Hard with his hand just around the base. Message that reads **A wishbone for my favorite customer. Happy Thanksgiving, grandpa narc!**

Still laughing, Steve drops his head back down in the pillows and tries to keep his own dick from shooting up already. Not the easiest of tasks.

Shoots back, **Is this really necessary? First you cancel on me and then you tease me?**

Seconds later he gets a response.

**Bucky: I’m sorry. :( Wanna cam? Only $50 ;)**

Steve grunts. He didn’t know that was one of Bucky’s services, but now that the kid’s got it on his mind it’s really all he can think about. And since he’s not going to be seeing him tonight--really, Steve can’t blame Bucky for cancelling so he can spend Thanksgiving with his family on Long Island; it’s not like he’d want him rushing back just for him--maybe a quick cam session’ll take the edge off. 

**Steve: Didn’t know you did that.**

**Bucky: Sure. Gets real busy during finals week. so…?**

**Steve: what about Nat and Clint? Won’t they hear?**

**Bucky: Nah. Nat left already and Clint won’t be up till at least noon and he takes his hearing aids out anyways. No one’ll hear ya grandpa. Come on Stevie you don’t wanna wait so long for your Bucky do u?**

Already getting out of bed for his laptop and wallet, Steve tells Bucky to send him the link. Within minutes, he’s set up a secure account on Bucky’s site, paid, and has his cursor hovered over the _start chat_ button. Stomach clenched and filled with knots. Somehow, this is just as nerve wrecking as the first time Bucky came over. Taking in a deep breath, Steve clicks. It rings just like a telephone. 

Once.

Twice.

And then Bucky appears on his screen. 

He’s stretched out on his bed. Leaned back against a mountain of pillows. Naked, so far as Steve can tell, except for the hat on his head. Steve’s hat. Falling to his eyebrows. 

Bucky lifts his head enough to peek out from under the brim of the hat and into the camera to smirk. Or better yet, look right at, right _through_ Steve, since that’s exactly what it feels like every time those eyes fall upon him. Even through a computer. 

“Hiya, Stevie,” He greets in that sinfully breathful voice. “Did I wake ya’?”

“Hi, Buck.” Steve breathes. Blood already flowing beneath his legs. “Yeah. Sorta.”

He’s got one arm behind his head and he must use his hand to pull the hat up a bit. It crawls up his forehead and makes the shadow along his face lift. 

“Mm. Sorry.”

“That’s alright. Did you have fun last night?”

“Mhm.” He gives the camera a lazy smile. “You? Did you enjoy CSI?”

Steve laughs with a shake of his head. “Oh yeah. Thoroughly.” He’d say something else, but Bucky pouts. “What?”

“You got your shirt on, Steve.” He whines. “Take it off for me, sir? Pretty please?”

As if he could deny him when he asks so fucking sweetly. That submissive gleam in his eyes, that pretty face already so docile and willing to obey. Steve shrugs out of his shirt and tosses it God knows where.

“Mm.” Bucky moans and tilts his head. “Jesus Christ, Steve, you should just go around like that all the time.”

Even over a computer Bucky makes him blush. Steve ducks his face down and tries not to smile too much.

“You feelin’ shy, Stevie?” Bucky guesses. “Never done this either?” Steve shakes his head. He’s not too sure why he’s so nervous about this. Maybe cause he’s really not sure what to do. “Okay. That’s okay. Just tell me what you want me to do for you.”

It’s strange to say these things out loud without having Bucky physically in the room with him. Steve feels like he’s about to start talking to himself. Self-conscious about it as if someone might burst in. 

“Um, can I see more of you?” He asks.

Bucky smiles. “Course ya’ can. I’m still all needy for you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

He says this as he moves the camera just a little bit. That’s all it takes for Steve to see what he means. He’s still nice and hard. His hand is just by the base of his cock. Not touching, not really, but all he needs to do is wrap his fingers and he’d be grabbing it.

Thankful for the little screen that shows Steve what Bucky’s seeing on his end, Steve squirms slightly on his mattress. He’s already hard as a rock.

“Did you…” Steve remembers what it was like being that age. Knows what it was like first thing in the morning. “Did you wake up like that, sweet boy? All greedy and wanting?”

It’s harder to tell over the computer, but Steve thinks Bucky might blush a little at the question.

“Uh, yeah. I did. But it just got me thinkin’ about you and all things I want ya’ to do to me.”

Steve takes in a deep breath. One that Bucky’s sure to notice on his end. He must, since he licks his lips right after.

“What’d you want me to do, Bucky?”

Before answering, Bucky’s eyes flick down to his hard on. His gaze sweeps back up just a little needier than a second ago.

“I like your hands on me, sir. I wanna be over your lap.”

“You like when I spank you, don’t you?” Steve says, finding this a little easier with each word. “Like when I make your pretty ass all red?”

“Mhm, mhm.” Bucky nods his head quickly. Anxious almost. 

“What else?”

Bucky squirms a bit now. Steve can see his cock twitch before he gives him another answer.

“I want your ropes on me again.” He tells him. His voice gets airy as he continues. “I like being held down for you. So you can play with me.”

Steve groans at that. He puts his hand around his own cock and starts stroking. Only his arm is in view enough for Bucky to know what he’s doing. Rather than feeling strange about it, about jerking himself off on camera like this, Steve is just more turned on. Especially by Bucky’s reaction. At this point his eyes are moving from the screen down to his lap and up to the screen again. 

“What’s the matter, baby?” Steve asks. Playing dumb. He knows just what’s going on. “Are you okay?”

He whines again. “I’m… I’m really hard, Steve.”

“Uh-ha, I see that. Why haven’t you touched yourself?”

Bucky looks out at him like this might be some sort of trick question. Is Steve really asking or is he taunting him? The wheels in his head are turning as he comes up with the appropriate response.

“Y-you didn’t say I could yet.” He comes up with. Exactly what Steve wanted to hear. He’s so fucking good at this.

“Ah, I see.” Steve answers. “You like being my good boy. My good boy doesn’t touch himself until he’s told. And you’re _mine_ right now, right?”

“Yes. Oh yes, sir. I’m yours. I’m _yours_.”

His hips are rolling across his mattress. Bucky’s getting rather impatient. Watching Steve while knowing what he’s doing on his end, claiming to be _his_ \--which shoots through Steve like a strike of lightning--it’s making him a mess of desire and need. 

That makes Steve smile. Listening to Bucky tell him what he enjoys to have done to him. Maybe it’s all part of the act. Bucky giving his customer what he wants. An illusion out of Steve’s wettest dream and perfect fantasy. 

“I like hearing you beg.” Steve murmurs. “You always sound so sweet. Asking me nicely. You like it too, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” Bucky whispers. Eyes closed and head tilted back.

“Go ahead. You can beg.”

“C-can I touch myself, Steve? Sir? Oh please? I _need_ to. Please?”

“Go ahead, good boy. You can touch yourself.”

Bucky does so immediately. Before Steve’s even finished with his sentence. He lets out a relieved, rough sigh. His mouth hangs open at the sudden friction. 

“What do you say, Bucky?”

“Thank you…” He whispers. “Oh thank you, sir.” It doesn’t take more than that for his breaths to pick up. “ _Fuck_ , I wish it was your mouth, Steve. Oh shit…”

Working his fist up and over his own dick, Steve watches Bucky for a few moments before picking up the dirty talk. Tells Bucky some more things he wants to do, some he’s _going_ to do when he’s over next week. 

_Gonna make you come with just my tongue. Just fucking you in the ass with my tongue_. Bucky groans and jerks his hips. _Make you crawl around for me. Show off that pretty body_. Bucky mutters a “ _fuck_ yes, _please._ ” _I’ll use that crop on you like you want. Up your thighs, across your ass. Nice stings right on your skin_. Bucky whimpers and nods and nods. 

Bucky’s moving his hand faster now. His body starts to tremble and he’s biting down on his lip. Hard, from what Steve can tell. He’s getting close. Confirmed even more when a bit of Russian slips from his tongue.

“Bucky?”

“Yes?”

Still, he keeps going. He’s answered, acknowledged Steve calling him, but he’s hardly paying any attention. He’s much too caught up in his own pleasure.

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve calls. This time hard and firm enough that Bucky’s eyes pop open and he looks back at the camera. “Listen to me, sweet boy.”

“Oh. Yes. Yes, Steve.”

“Slow down.”

He looks confused. Like he’s not sure what Steve’s talking about until Steve glances down at Bucky’s lap. It clicks and Bucky gets it. He shifts a little, but otherwise slows his hand. Watching Steve for an indication of where this is headed. When Steve shakes his head, it’s clear what he wants and Bucky slows his hand even more. 

With each shake of the head, it becomes more and more obvious what’s about to happen and by the time Bucky’s hand is completely immobile around his cock, he looks like he wants to scream. All Steve needs to do is flick his fingers and Bucky knows what he wants. That doesn’t stop him from whimpering as he takes his hand away, finger by finger, like it pains him a little more each time.

“Good boy.” Steve says. “Now you just sit back and watch me.” 

Bucky chokes on a broken whimper as he tries to sit still and just watch Steve while Steve goes on with the dirty talk. Steve keeps an eye on him the whole time. Once and only once do Bucky’s hands creep closer to his aching hard on.

“Get those hands out of there.” Steve orders and Bucky flings his palms up. Whines and struggles more as he rocks his hips since Steve’s said nothing about not doing that. “Talk to me, good boy. Tell me more.”

So he does. Sounds hard and strained while trying not to touch himself when he so badly wants to and was and now can’t. Bucky repeats some of the things Steve’s said, adds a bit of his own, and then sends Steve over the edge.

“Show me I belong to you, sir. Make me your property.”

Fuck… _fuck_. Steve can’t hold back and feels everything inside of him tighten. So tight it’s almost uncomfortable until it all releases at once, an explosion of absolute heaven. The world goes silent for those seconds. Wrapped up in nothing but sensations pumping through him. 

As he comes back down, air beginning to feel chilly on his sweaty skin, chest rising and falling at a more even pace, Steve peers back at the computer. Bucky’s panting with him, still being good, not touching, but panting over watching. 

“That felt incredible,” Steve teases. “Too bad you didn’t feel it.”

Bucky laughs and groans and huffs all at once while tossing his head back in frustration. He’s still in the same position when he asks, “Can I touch myself now?”

“Yes, you can. But don’t let yourself come. You stop if you get close, understand?”

He’s still staring up at whatever’s up on his ceiling. Whether just paint or stucco or a fan or nothing at all of interest. Steve can see his face twist up at this but he nods and goes back to touching. Keeps his hand slow at first. 

Steve starts talking to him. About life. Meaningless little things like his favorite fruit and color and band (strawberries, blue, Fall Out Boy). It gets a little harder for Bucky to answer as his hand picks up speed. He starts stuttering them out, sometimes after a bit of prompting on Steve’s end. 

“Careful, sweet boy.” He warns when Bucky trembles a few times.

Bucky whines and pouts, now looking back at the camera again.

“F-feels good.”

“I know. But you’re not gonna like me very much next week if you don’t listen.” Steve reminds him. “I’d get that hand out of there.”

That lip is back under Bucky’s teeth. Squished and swollen. Bucky whimpers but does as he’s told. Steve picks up the everyday conversation. Much to Bucky’s chagrin, Steve has him start again just a few minutes later, only to keep on talking and then make him stop. 

“ _Fuck_!” Bucky grunts when Steve does it for the fourth time. A jagged, breathless laugh bursts from his chest. “You’re not gonna let me come at all, are ya’?”

“Probably not, no.” Steve chuckles. “Still your favorite customer?”

Bucky groans and rubs the bottom of his hands into his eyes. He shakes his head back and forth. Sometime during the session, Steve’s hat ended up next to him.

“I’m thinkin’ about it.” 

When Bucky moves his hands and looks back at Steve, Steve almost gives in immediately. Bucky pulls out the most heartbreaking look imaginable. Eyes big and weepy, little tears hugging the corners. Lips turned down in a pleading frown. 

“Please, sir?” Bucky asks. Soft, quiet. So small and docile. “It hurts. You said you like takin’ care’a me, didn’t ya?”

Steve almost falls for it. His words combined with that voice and look, Steve’s about to crack and give in. Really, he gives Bucky a lot of credit for such a ploy. But, that’s not what Bucky really wants. At least, not per their discussions. Besides, Steve glances at the timer in the corner. There’s only minutes left and once they’re done and the show is over, Bucky’ll go off and do what he pleases. Because that’s all this is. 

“Aw, I do, baby, I do. And I’ll always give you what you need. But right now I say you don’t need to come. So you don’t come.”

Bucky whines some more and Steve’s sure he’ll never get enough of that little sound in such a scenario. 

“No fair.” He sulks.

Which is exactly what he asked for. 

“Fair’s are places with rides and cotton candy.” 

Bucky huffs and tries to hold in a laugh that he’s not all that capable of doing. 

“You suck.” He mumbles. 

“Not as well as you, I’m sure. You have no idea how fucking perfect that mouth of yours is.” He praises. “You look so fucking amazing with your mouth full of my dick. Choking on it. Getting it all the way down your throat…”

He trails off when Bucky moans again and tries once more to sway Steve to seeing reason. And is once again let down when Steve says no. 

Steve’s about to say something else when a little stopwatch pops up on the screen. Red numbers counting down from ten. Bucky does something on his computer before it reaches zero and it vanishes. 

“Camera won’t just shut off on ya now.” He explains. Still breathy and sweaty and completely unsatisfied. Which shows in the way his face is all scrunched up. “But, uh, times up.”

“Yeah. I figured. You doin’ okay over there?” Steve chuckles. 

Bucky makes a face at him. “Trying to decide just how much I hate you.”

Laughing, Steve gives him a shrug and Bucky signs loudly. 

“You leaving for Long Island soon?”

“Around noon.” Bucky shifts some more, his erection still pushed up against his belly. “You gonna be okay today, Steve?”

That question alone has Steve wanting to just pull him out of the computer and hug him. He’s touched actually. Warmed inside that, maybe the reason all of this happened at all was out of Bucky’s concern for him. 

“Yeah. I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me. Have a nice day, Bucky.”

Bucky blows him an over-the-top kiss and waves at the camera. “See ya’, Steve.”

The screen goes black. 

Instead of just going back to sleep like Steve had planned to do all day--like he’s been doing every Thanksgiving for ten years--he gets up to pour himself a bowl of cereal. Captain Crunch. No milk. He gets a glass of orange juice and takes everything to the living room. 

Now that he’s up, Steve flips on the television. He pulls out a blanket from the closet and wraps it around his shoulders as he sits down to watch the Macy’s Parade. Only a few balloons go by and the tears show. 

_“Steven Grant Rogers, you slow down, mister!”_

_“Aw, Mama! We’re gonna miss him, we’re gonna miss him!”_

_Sarah pulls a tissue out of her pocket and wipes the snot from his nose. Tells him to blow to clear the rest and Steve huffs before doing so. 8th Avenue is packed and crowded and if it was up to Steve he’d be sneaking through people’s legs to get closer to the parade. The consequences to that would not be worth it._

_“Santa’s not going anywhere just yet, angel.” She assures him and takes him by the hand. “And if you give yourself an asthma attack you’ll make him sad cause you didn’t listen to your mama.”_

_Steve’s face falls and he shakes his head. “I’ll be good, Mama. I don’t wanna make Santa sad.”_

_“I know, Steve.” She puts her hand on his head but he can hardly feel it under the thick hat over it. “You just be good and Santa’s gonna be so happy. Come on now. You’re going the wrong way.”_

_Instead of staying along the street with all the people, Sarah takes him down a different block. Steve keeps trying to twist around, as much as his heavy coat and thick scarf will allow, just in case. He doesn’t want to miss any balloons either and he **knows** he is he just **knows** it._

_“Mama! Where’re we going!”_

_“Right here, baby.”_

_They’re at a brownstone just two buildings down the block. Sarah rings the bell and they’re buzzed in after she says some things into the intercom, but Steve can’t pay attention. Not when the balloons might show up soon._

_Sarah takes him upstairs and introduces him to Drs. Blake and Foster, who Steve tries to be nice and say hi to like Mama says, but how can she expect him to say hi when Santa might be outside right now?_

_“Mama,” Steve whines. “I’m gonna miss Santa.”_

_Much to Steve’s dismay, Sarah laughs and assures him he won’t before leading him further into the place. Only they end up on a balcony and Steve giggles and cheers when he sees how close they are to the parade. From where he is, Steve can see everything._

_“Mama!” He laughs each time he points out a balloon._

_Sonic the Hedgehog and Mickey Mouse and Barney--but Steve tries not to get too excited because that’s a baby show--and Bart Simpson. And then finally, **finally** , Steve screeches and laughs and hops because…_

_“Santa’s coming, Mama! Look look look! You see him, Mama? There he is!”_

_“There he is, angel.” Sarah laughs. “Aren’t you gonna wave?”_

_Steve shoots his hand up and waves wildly and Santa waves back, he does, he does, “did you see, Mama? Did ya?! Santa waved right at me!”_

_“He sure did, baby.” Sarah kisses his nose. “Now lets get you inside. You got yourself a rabbit face.”_

_“Mama, do I have to go to the doctor tomorrow? What if Santa’s magic made my heart all better?”_

_There’s a hitch in Sarah’s voice when she answers. “No, Steve, baby, I’m sorry. You still have to go for a few days. Besides, you don’t think Santa wants you to get sick, do you?”_

_“No, Mama. But can we come back next year, Mama?”_

_“It’s a date, Steve. Every year we can.”_

Steve turns the television off. He can’t watch the parade. He just can’t. The bowl of cereal and glass of juice sit on the coffee table untouched. Tears roll down his cheeks. He thought he could do it today. He can’t. 

Leaving the dishes where they are, Steve ambles back to his room, falls into bed, and goes back to sleep. 

Ninety minutes later, Steve’s phone is coming to life again. He groans before even opening his eyes. With a sigh, Steve heaves over for the damn thing and sees a text from Tony. It’s hard not to smile.

**Tony: Pepper wanted me to text you. ask if ur sure u don’t wanna come. Peppers worried about you. Pepper wanted me to make sure that ur oky. Pepper wants u to know that ur welcome here, big guy.**

Steve stretches his neck and runs over the text again. The text from Tony’s heart as much as Pepper’s. 

**Steve: tell Pepper I said thanks, but i’m good here. And that I’m ok i swear. No worries.**

He hits send and types a bit more.

**Steve: Thank you, Tony**

**Tony: no problem Steve. all night invite if you change your mind**

That makes Steve smile a bit more. He puts his phone down again and gives his muscles a full body stretch. They sigh in relief as he slowly releases the tension and then tosses the covers off. 

Maybe a shower will help get him fully awake. He can spend his first Thanksgiving since his mom died _out_ of bed. Sarah wouldn’t like this, Steve knows it. Wouldn’t want him to waste _any_ day away over her, but today especially. 

_“I got the flour, Mama!”_

_Steve’s on his tippy toes. Reaching into the kitchen cabinet for the big bag that Sarah needs for the apple cake they’re making. Not apple pie like other families. Apple cake. “Cause it’s my angel’s favorite,” Mama says._

_“Oh wait no! Steven!”_

_Too late. The bag overturns in Steve’s small hands and half the contents pour out all over him. A small cloud of white dust forming all around._

_“Oof…” Steve mumbles as it happens. Then he peers up at Sarah. Eyes wide and apologetic. “I’m sorry, Mama. I… I was only tryin’a help you.”_

_“Oh, baby…” Sarah comes over and bursts out laughing. “Look at you! It looks like it snowed inside, doesn’t it?”_

_Instead of being mad or upset with him, Sarah smiles and laughs and then scoops up some of the fallen flour and flings it up in the air. It slowly falls back down all around them in a thin white cloud._

_“Mama!” Steve giggles._

_“Look at that, Steve. Our own snow for Thanksgiving.”_

_Sarah does it again and this time Steve joins her. They make a mess of the kitchen having their own snow fight on Thanksgiving until Sarah declares Steve the winner and tells him it’s time to get cleaned up. She’s still all sparkles and glitter when she’s trying to shower him off and the flour clumps together on the floor of the bathtub._

Steve turns off the shower. And his tears. No. He’s not ready for this. Grabbing a towel, he dries off, and goes back to bed without bothering to get dressed.

Only thirty minutes go by this time before his phone is rudely waking him up for a fourth time today. First, Steve shoves his head under a pillow. But since his text chime will go off until he checks it--Steve’s set it up that way because there are plenty of times he doesn’t hear it until it tries a few times--he grunts and just grabs it. 

Another text from Bucky. It only says one thing and Steve can’t possibly imagine what it means.

**Bucky: Please?**

On his stomach, Steve scrolls back up through their texts. Maybe he missed something? There’s nothing there that would indicate such a thing so he types back a reply.

 **Steve: What?**

Since the answer doesn’t come in right away, Steve actually starts dozing off again. The phone makes him jump a bit when it goes off.

**Bucky: I gotta leave in an hour. I’m /dying/ over here. Please can I come, sir? Please?**

An excited flutter sweeps through Steve’s belly. He almost can’t believe what he’s reading. In fact, he even pinches his arm. Just in case. He seems to be awake. 

Steve assumed that once their session was over, Bucky would do whatever the hell he wanted to do. In fact, that’s just what he expected to happen. They’ve never tested any waters outside of Steve being his paying customer. Now Steve’s feet feel damp.

**Steve: You didn’t come after we disconnected?**

**Bucky: Is that permission to? Cause no. I didn’t. u said I couldn’t.**

A shudder runs through Steve. The thought of Bucky needy and wanting him all day makes him hot all over. 

**Steve: No that’s not permission. You’re not allowed to come again until I say so.**

Looking over that text, Steve realizes that his words might not exactly be doable. Bucky’ll have other customers between now and next Thursday. So he revises that.

**Steve: No. No permission. I’m not making you come until next time you’re mine again**

To that, Steve receives a snapshot of Bucky’s adorable pouty face--Steve’s hat on his head again--with a caption that says: **You’re too good to me, sir. No wait… mean. that’s right. mean. ;X**

Steve laughs and sends back: **Behave yourself, good boy. I’ll make it up to you.**

**Bucky: Oh! yes sir! Can i text u later?**

**Steve: Course you can. Have a nice time and be good**

When he doesn’t get a response again, Steve makes his way back into the living room. He gets rid of the cereal and juice he abandoned earlier and heats up some leftover stir fry. Scooping some into his mouth, Steve feels his stomach turning a bit. 

_“Mama, do we really have to go to the parade?” Steve huffs as he pads into the kitchen. Sleepy eyed and bed headed. “I’m thirteen. Don’t really need to see some dude dressed up in a red jacket.”_

_Sarah laughs. She flips over a pancake and tells Steve to sit down at the table. He throws himself down and pillows his head in his arms. Maybe he can sneak in a few more minutes of sleep. Alas, not with Sarah around to tickle the back of his neck._

_“Ah!” He giggles. “Mama!”_

_“Come on, baby. We don’t have to go to the parade if you’re too grown up for it. But we’re watching it on tv and then you can help me get the apple cakes ready.”_

_She means that, too. All of it. Doesn’t mind if Steve’s desire to go to the parade every year has suddenly changed in his too-cool-for-such-things-age. They’ll spend the day at home. Baking and probably overcooking the Turkey. Thanksgiving is for them. Mama always says that. Christmas they spend with the Wilsons ever since the last of Steve’s grandparents died two years prior and Easter they go to Central Park to participate in the festivities there as long as Steve’s allergies don’t get too bad. Today is just for them. It doesn’t matter what they do. Stay in or go to the parade or even the movies. Today is their holiday. Forever thankful that they have each other._

_“Mama?”_

_“Yeah, Steve?”_

_“Happy Thanksgiving.”_

_She smiles at him. “Happy Thanksgiving, baby.”_

Steve forces himself to eat a bit more than half of the stir fry before crawling back into bed. 

Another few hours pass. Steve tosses and turns a bit. Wrestles with his desire to overcome this and to say screw the world he’s sleeping the day away and they can deal with it. Until his phone starts again. This time it’s ringing. Steve thinks about ignoring it until he sees that it’s Sam calling. He knows better than to ignore a call from Sam. 

“Hello?”

“Hey, man,” Sam greets. “You outta bed yet?”

Though Steve’s never told anyone about this, about wanting his bed to just wrap him up and let everything else just disappear, Sam seems to always know.

“Um, no. Not really. But I’ve gotten up a few times.”

“Steve…” Sam breathes his name out slowly. Worried. Steve can hear it. “Why don’t you come over? Seriously. You know…”

“Is that Steven?” Shouts another voice in the background. “Sammy? You on the phone with Steve?”

Sam sighs. Steve chuckles. 

“Yeah, Ma! I’m on the phone with Steve!” Sam calls back. “Sorry, Steve.”

Steve says it’s okay. Cause he knows what’s going to be coming next. And he’s not wrong.

“Gimme that phone, Sammy!”

There’s no argument and Steve can hear the phone transferring hands.

“Steven?”

“Hi, Mrs. Wilson. How’re you?”

“Oh don’t you Mrs. Wilson me, young man.” She scolds. “I’ve been Darlene for how long? And I’m fine. What are you doing today?”

Steve chuckles again. “Yes, ma’am. I’m not doing anything, Darlene.”

“Well then I don’t know why you’re not bringing your tiny, little behind over to this house and having a nice Thanksgiving here. Cause I knew your mama pretty dang well and I know she’d be rolling over in her grave to know that her sonny boy was sitting all by himself on her favorite holiday.”

Tears fill Steve’s eyes. Not really sad ones. Not really happy ones either. They’re just there.

“I’m sorry, Darlene. I just… don’t feel up to it.”

There’s a pause, but Steve can still hear the hustle and bustle that’s going on at the Wilson’s house. Lots of people. Sam’s big family all gathered together. Steve would be welcomed with open arms. Happy faces and warm embraces. Mrs. Wilson especially. She’ll wrap him up in her arms for a solid minute. Given she was Sarah’s best friend it isn’t any wonder.

“Steven, honey, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.” She sighs. “I just hate thinking about you all alone. California was one thing. But you’re just a drive away.”

“I’ll be okay, Darlene. I promise. I just…”

“I miss her, too, baby.” She says for him. “That’s an open invitation though. Doesn’t just end today. Here’s Sam. Happy Thanksgiving, Steve.”

“Yeah. You, too, Darlene. Thank you again.”

Sam gets back on and tries to sound enthusiastic but doesn’t pull it off quite right.

“Guess if she couldn’t convince you, I can’t, huh?”

“I’m sorry, Sam. I really am. I just…”

“I get it, Steve. You don’t have to apologize. Just, y’know, we love you. Okay?”

“Thanks, Sam. I love you, too.”

They hang up and Steve decides if he can’t spend the day out with the people who love him because of his own personal hang ups, the least he can do for them is spend the day on the couch instead of in bed.

\----

**Bucky: You got any idea how hard it is to sit here with family when all i can think about is what you did to me this morning? so uncool.**

The message comes in when Steve is snacking on some popcorn watching _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_ which is apparently the first in some network’s line up of 30 days of Christmas specials. He’s not really eaten all that much other than the bit of leftovers from earlier, and he can’t really stomach much of anything more than the little snacks he’s having. Steve chuckles and wipes his hands. 

**Steve: still thinking about me? you want my tongue all over you? my fingers inside you? making you scream?**

**Bucky: fuck you! you are so not helping!**

Picturing Bucky sitting around with his family, trying not to think about this morning, about the unsatisfied ache between his legs, it does all sort of crazy things to Steve’s insides. 

**Steve: even if i gave u permission what’re u gonna do? go jerk off in the bathroom? shame, shame. ;)**

**Bucky: Haha fucker i still have a bedroom here y’know! But i guess that’d be kinda weird anyway?**

**Steve: Just a bit, greedy boy. U don’t have permission anyway. Did u eat dinner yet?**

It’s just a little before six. Steve and Sarah used to eat around four every year. Then pig out on desserts all night long. 

**Bucky: Yeah. Just finished helping with dishes. gonna have dessert soon.**

**Steve: i got dessert for you.**

Ugh. Steve rolls his eyes at his own ridiculous joke. Is he really old enough to be making such corny remarks?

**Bucky: god you’re a loser, grandpa.**

**Steve: yeah yeah. you should be nicer to me. paying customer and all.**

**Bucky: :P you get witty banter for free**

**Steve: I’ll take it.**

**Bucky: that’s just cause you can’t get enough of me! I gg. ttyl stevie!**

Bucky’s last message probably rings out a little too true for Steve. They’ve never interacted like this before. Never outside of their scheduled appointments or in school. Steve’s not sure what to make of it. 

On one hand, maybe Bucky really does enjoy his time with Steve on a deeper level than just having a good customer relationship with him. On the other, maybe it’s just because he feels bad for Steve being all alone tonight. Making up for not being able to come over. 

Either way, the little elephant only grows a few sizes. 

\---

The knock on the door comes just as Steve settles down to watch _It’s a Wonderful Life_ on cable tv. Which should be about two and a half hours but will instead take approximately nine hundred because there’ll be a commercial every five minutes. 

Steve stares at the door like the wood will suddenly be able to tell him who’s on the other side of it and the meaning behind the ludicrous of him just getting re-comfortable on the couch and having to get up again. He sighs, puts his bowl of popcorn to the side and heaves back up. Opening the door just a bit to see who’s there, Steve rattles his head.

“Bucky?”

“Hey, narc!” Bucky beams with a smug grin. Knows damn well him just appearing like this is about to knock Steve to the floor. “Happy Turkey Day and all that jazz.”

Steve’s opened the door all the way now, but he’s just standing there. Staring at Bucky and then at the time on the cable box. It’s 8:03pm. When looking back at his visitor again, Bucky licks his lips. Gets a kick out of this, that’s for sure.

“What… what’re you doing here?” Steve finally gets out after a considerably long stretch of time. “I thought…”

“It’s our night. And I…” He shrugs. “Didn’t think it’d be’a big deal to skip out early.”

“But…” For some reason, Steve’s brain is having trouble processing what’s happening right now. Mind set on spending at least the next several hours by himself. Trying not to think about the things that make him want to crawl back into bed. “But what about your family?”

“Ha!” Bucky scoffs and rolls his eyes. Amusement and love all over him. He’s close with his family. It shows. “Gimme a break. I told em’ I was gonna go cause this friend’a mine that didn’t have no where to go and suddenly I was being stuffed out the door with this.”

He lifts his arm and hanging from his wrist is a paper bag. It crinkles and smiles at him. Something happy within it.

“What’s that?”

“A shit ton’a leftovers that’s what.” He looks in it and starts naming the contents. “There’s dark meat and white meat and gravy cause Mom says we don’t know how you like it. I got mashed potatoes and sweet potatoes,” Bucky lifts his head with a proud grin, “ _I_ made those. Put the little marshmallows on them and everything.”

“Look at you, expert cook.”

“Hey, shut up. I still did it. Then there’s stuffin’ and corn and corn _bread_ and uh… pudding pie and apple pie and pumpkin pie. Cause again, Mom said we didn’t know what you liked. So…” Bucky dangles the bag out in front of him. “How bout it, Stevie? Wanna have some leftover Thanksgiving dinner with me? Cause we ate at like three and I could use some more sustenance. Plus, just half price today, huh? Holiday special.”

Bucky’s still beaming at him. Swaying the bag a bit back and forth like he’s tantalizing Steve with it’s contents. Steve chuckles. Some part of him feels a bit sick at the idea of having a Thanksgiving dinner at all without Sarah. But, and as much as he feels like he might be betraying his friends a little bit, sharing one with Bucky makes him feel all fuzzy inside. 

“I’m pretty sure that’ll be the most expensive Thanksgiving meal I’ve ever had.” Steve jokes.

“Yeah, but you get _me_ , too.” Bucky reminds him. “Plus, you _did_ say you had dessert for me. So how bout it?”

Steve laughs. He did say that earlier. No matter how corny it was. And now that he’s here, all Steve wants is this.

“Yeah.” He steps aside and waves his arm out. “Come on in, Buck.”

“Cool.” Bucky comes in with that patented smile and sets the bag down to take his jacket off. 

Steve can’t ever get over how beautiful this kid is. Even more so now. He’s got a pair of slacks on and a button down shirt--plaid and dark purple. A little more spiffed up than usual.

“Look at you.” Steve says. “All dressed up. You look nice, Buck.”

Bucky looks over his body like he’s surprised to find himself dressed like this while here. 

“Thank you.” He smiles and tries to keep it in. Then notices Steve reaching down for the bag. “No, no!” He exclaims. “I’ll do it. Go sit down on the couch. I’ll take care of you tonight, Stevie. Just… uh, how you doin’ this? Cash? Charge?”

“Oh right. Yeah, I got cash. Hang on.”

“Yeah, yeah. Take your time. I’ll go heat this up.” He’s already moving to the kitchen. “You want anything specific?”

“Your sweet potatoes.” Steve says.

Bucky pauses and smiles at him. “You got it.”

“Dishes are in the cabinet over the sink.”

“Duh! Like I don’t know where you shit is.” Bucky laughs. 

Steve sits back down on the couch and tries to focus on the movie, but can’t help listening to Bucky in the kitchen instead. Ordinary sounds of someone heating up food. Tupperware opening, serving utensils clanking against plates, beeps from the microwave, a few muttered swears when something doesn’t quite go Bucky’s way. 

When Bucky’s back, just a few minutes later, he comes waltzing in with a big grin on his face and a plate of food and a glass of soda in his hands. 

“Here ya go, Stevie.” He hands them over. “Might be a little hot, so watch out.”

Smiling Steve takes them, hands Bucky the money he owes him and asks whether he’s getting some for himself. 

“Yeah. Just wanted to bring yours out first.”

He goes back to fetch his own things and soon Steve and Bucky are curled up on either end of the couch, plates of Thanksgiving leftovers in their laps, and _It’s a Wonderful Life_ on the television. They’re watching a bit, talking a bit, eating a bit. They even sit with empty dishes for a while until Bucky offers to take them to the sink. 

“You wanna stick with watching the movie for a bit? Or skip straight to dessert?” Bucky wonders, running his fingers through his hair when he comes back. 

Steve’s eyes scan his body. As anxious as Steve is to get his hands all over him again, the idea of making Bucky wait even longer turns him on like he never imagined.

“No. Let’s watch a little more.”

The disappointment in Bucky’s eyes is obvious no matter how hard he tries to hide it. Still, he’s here for Steve and if Steve says to wait that’s what he’ll do. He nods and sits back down.

“Okay then.” 

Trying to play off the air of nonchalance like he usually does when he doesn’t quite get what he wants isn’t working as well as normal. Bucky keeps scooting a little closer to Steve, but Steve pretends like he doesn’t notice. Not until Bucky goes to get off the couch again.

“Where’re you going?” Steve asks when he’s halfway to his feet.

Bucky, paused in that exact position, glances over like Steve’s just asked him to solve world hunger.

“I, uh, the bathroom?”

“Ah.”

Still paused for a few more seconds, Bucky blinks and then proceeds to stand up. They’ve never fully discussed this, but Bucky’s expressed interests in having Steve take more control. So when he takes a step, Steve once again stops him.

“I didn’t tell you you could get up.” 

Even the air in Bucky’s lungs seem to stop moving. Everything about him has frozen. He turns to look at Steve; mouth dropped open a bit and eyes huge. Not in a bad way. Curious. Shocked. Completely taken by surprise by what Steve’s just said.

“I… you…” He swallows and tries again. “Um…”

Doesn’t get much further with whatever thought is running through his head than just a second ago. 

“Gimme a color, baby. Tell me.”

Bucky exhales slowly. A whimper escapes along with it. Soft and quiet and Steve wouldn’t have heard it at all if he wasn’t so damn focused on the kid.

“G-green.”

A bubble bursts throughout Steve. Pleasant and thrilling and wonderful. Bucky handing more of himself over to him. Not just in sex. Right now, paying or not, Bucky’s willing to submit to him. 

“Okay.” Steve glances to the spot Bucky just vacated. “Then be good and sit back down.”

Bucky swallows hard and folds his lips before letting out a quiet “yes, sir” and taking his seat. 

All goes well for the first twenty minutes, other than the few quick glances Bucky takes at Steve. His skin is flushed already as he sits obediently. Steve doesn’t acknowledge the glances until Bucky starts to wiggle a bit. The first time he whines, Steve shushes him and tells him to pay attention to the movie. Another twenty minutes bleed away and Steve puts an around Bucky’s shoulders when his knee starts shaking. It’s not too long after that when Bucky starts to really squirm. He starts burying his face in Steve’s side to try and stifle his whines. 

After more than an hour though, of muffled whines and whimpers, wiggles and squirms, Bucky can’t take it any longer.

“Oh _please_!” He begs. Hands clenched to Steve’s shirt. Mouth shoved into his shoulder. “Please, sir, can I go to the bathroom? Please please please!”

Steve laughs and ruffles Bucky’s hair. “Go on, go.”

Shooting off the couch, Bucky dashes there, shouting _thank you thank you thank you_ the whole time. Steve is still laughing as he hears a loud, long, exaggerated moan come from the bathroom when Bucky finally relieves his bladder. 

Bucky comes back in with a shy smile on his face. Like he’s now a little embarrassed about this. 

“Feel better?” Steve asks. 

“Mhm.” Bucky nods. “Thank you.”

There’s a pretty glaze on Bucky’s face right now. Like Steve, he’s feeling just as high at the control he’s given and how Steve took it. The way he’s eyeing him right now, Bucky wants more. God, he wants so much more and Steve can’t keep it back anymore.

“Did you like that, sweet boy?” Steve asks gently. “Doing what I say?” Bucky nods slowly, head bobbing slightly as though barely attached to his neck anymore. “You’re very good at it, you know. You listen so well. And you’re so pretty, too.” Once again, that produces the same response even with the spacey expression on Bucky’s face. Shy smile. Tears in his eyes. Tiny whimper. “You want your dessert now, good boy?”

Bucky’s hips jerk and he moans before nodding. Fast. Quick. Wanting. There’s already a bulge in his pants. An erection tenting like it’s been trying to do all day.

“Please?”

“Take your clothes off.”

He’s not sure he’s ever seen Bucky move so fast. The kid’s naked in seconds. Clothes folded and placed neatly on the coffee table like Steve wants. Steve curls his finger and points to the spot on the couch he wants him. The minute he’s back next to him, Steve’s fingers are gently running down his torso. There’re a few faded marks on him again. 

“Are you mine, Bucky?” Steve asks. Low, seedy. “Hm, sweet boy?”

“Oh god, _yes_ , sir.” He murmurs. 

His cheeks are flushed and breaths are backing up on him as Steve’s hand makes it’s way across his body. Over his nipples, running down his ribs, circling around the base of his cock. Sweat already dots his brow. Steve taps the marks.

“Should I take care of these then?” He asks. “Make you remember when you were mine after you leave?”

Bucky’s mouth opens. Only a squeak comes out so he just nods. Steve gets to work. Covers those spots on Bucky with his mouth and sucks away. Pinches and nips and drags his teeth along them and makes Bucky shake and whine and gasp each time he changes what he’s doing. 

When he’s finished, sweat sticks to his hair. His pupils are totally blown and he can barely keep his head up. Steve’s not even touched him yet. 

“Are you ready, Bucky?” He asks. “You want your dessert?”

“Oh please, sir. Steve, yes, please.”

Grin on his face, Steve first kisses him. Hard. Lips locked, mouths opened, tongue tasting every bit of Bucky’s that it can get to. 

He pulls away quickly and then pecks his cheek. Peppers kisses down his throat and continues all the way down his torso. Lips touching the spot just around the base of his cock, Steve lifts his eyes to see Bucky staring down at him like he’s ready to burst into tears. Licking his lips, Steve let’s his tongue hang out just a little. Which makes Bucky’s mouth fall open wider like he wants to start begging but his voice has gone into hiding. 

Showing a bit of mercy, Steve gives him one long lick from bottom to top. The very second the tip of his tongue touches him, Bucky’s head drops back. Once he’s no longer being watched, Steve wraps his mouth around him and plunges down. 

The screaming starts right away.

“Holy _fuck_!” Bucky shouts. “Oh… oh, Steve! Shit!”

Steve’s never really sucked on him like this. Never had the chance to show Bucky how enthusiastic he can be about it. Cheeks hollowed out. Throat stuffed. Choking himself down. He moans around Bucky and the vibrations make Bucky groan louder. His hands are fumbling about as though he just needs to find something to do with them. To help him out, Steve grabs hold of his wrists and pushes them down into the cushion so he can’t move them. 

That only seems to give Bucky more reasons to shout and buck his hips into Steve’s mouth even more. Like he can’t help himself. Can’t get enough. Can’t…

“Fuck…” He gasps. “Oh… no… Steve… I… oh _fuck_ … I can’t… I can’t…” Bucky’s whining and pleading and from all the shaking going on, Steve knows what’s about to happen. Bucky starts muttering to himself, “Oh no. No not yet. No, no, no…”

Bucky’s about to come. Unable to hold it back despite not getting permission. He’s been too wound up all day. Too horny. Too much. Just too much. 

Steve knows he needs to time this just right. He takes his mouth off but immediately replaces it with his hand. Pumps once, twice, feels that slight twitch in Bucky’s cock, and lets go. 

Though his head had been shaking back and forth, the very _instant_ Steve lets go of his dick, Bucky freezes. He chokes on a broken gasp and starts pleading.

“Oh no! No, Steve, no! Please!”

Too late. 

The orgasm hits. The orgasm Steve’s ruined on him. Bucky’s cock jerks about a bit untouched. No stimulation to help it along. The build up so much and then fizzling out and dying to nothing as semen just dribbles out. 

Bucky’s still whimpering _no no no_ over and over again even though it’s all over. Body emptied out without the normal pleasure that goes with it. He’s whining and whimpering as a few fat tears slip out of his eyes. 

“Poor boy,” Steve whispers as he kisses along the side of his neck. “You waited all day for that, didn’t you?”

“Y-yes…” Bucky sniffles. He sounds so small and weak and drained, but completely dejected. “And you ruined it.”

“Did I tell you you could come?”

His little face is all scrunched up as he attempts to glare at Steve but can’t quite muster up the proper emotion behind it. Red patches on his cheeks. Tears rolling down. There’s a little pinch between his eyebrows when he shakes his head.

“No, sir. M’sorry.”

Steve kisses his temple. 

“That’s okay, baby.” He takes his shirt off to clean Bucky off and Bucky sighs at the sight of him. “Just relax a bit, okay?”

“You’re not…” Bucky needs a seconds to sniffle again. “I mean… what about you?”

“Oh don’t worry.” Steve assures him. “I’m not done with you.”

Bucky smiles and lets some of the tension fade from his body. Even more of it leaves when Steve starts gently kissing all over Bucky’s body a few minutes later. Tongue lapping over his nipples. Teeth playing with them. Soft and sweet. His hands roam all over, too. Moving gingerly over his arms and down his thighs. Parting his legs enough so that Steve can get in between them. 

The entire time, Steve just listens to the contented noises that come from Bucky. Soft sighs and gentle whispers. Words that brush along the very deepest core of his soul.

“You want me to fuck you?” Steve asks after leaving no stitch of skin untouched by his lips. “Want me inside of you?”

“Yes…” Bucky breathes. “Please, Steve. Sir.”

“You’re gonna be good this time?” Steve murmurs. Tongue running up the side of his neck and to his ear. “Or do I have to teach you another lesson?”

“Oh _no_ ,” Bucky whines. Pleading. So heart broken. “Not again, sir. I’ll be good.”

“Good boy.”

Hand holding onto Bucky’s hips, Steve gives him a gentle nudge and Bucky knows what he’s after. He lifts up enough for Steve to get his legs over his shoulders. One lick across Bucky’s hole has it fluttering and longing to be filled. Steve takes his sweet time teasing him with his tongue. Just little circles around the outside. A bit of pressure inside. He adds a finger just a few minutes later, lathered in his own spit. 

Bucky jerks up and hisses and then sighs as he relaxes and takes the finger even more. 

“More…” Bucky moans. “больше. Please, sir. больше. More…”

Steve moistens another finger and works it in with the other. It only takes a few thrusts before he’s dragging the tips of them along Bucky’s prostate. Once Steve starts with that, Bucky begins to whine and whimper and shout again.

“Oh god, Steve! Sir!”

Fingers scissored and curling and twisting, Steve deliberately avoids that sweet spot a few times before taking his hand out. He grabs the lube and a condom from Bucky’s pants and gets himself ready. 

“Tell me, Bucky,” He says when he’s in position to slide into his boy’s body. “Let me hear you say it.”

“I…” Bucky takes a deep breath. “I’m yours, sir. ваш, ваш, ваш. All yours, Steve.”

Steve drives home then. Pushes in and revels in the screams that it pulls from Bucky’s lungs. Loud and hard and every bit as encouraging as those soft whimpers before. He grabs one of Bucky’s ankles and rests it on his shoulder, leaving the other leg hanging over the couch. 

“Harder, Steve…” Bucky pleads. “ _Please_ , sir, harder.”

He gives Bucky what he wants. Slaps their bodies together rough and hard, sweat and breaths mixing. The musty smell of sex filling the area. Steve lifts Bucky’s hips up a bit and starts slamming into Bucky’s prostate. Bucky’s eyes get large and round and his hands fly up to his hair. 

“Oh fuck! Fuck fuck fuck…”

“Bucky…” Steve grunts. “God you’re so fucking perfect.” He leans forward to get his lips somewhere on him. They reach his throat and Steve licks and sucks more marks onto him. “My good boy. Such a sweet boy you are.”

“Oh god, sir…” Bucky pants. Bites down on his lip and starts to tremble now. “I… oh I need to come, sir.”

Still leaned over him, plowing in hard and deep, Steve wedges his hand between their bodies and takes hold of Bucky’s cock. Nice and big again. Swollen and hard and dying for that pleasure Steve ripped away before. 

“You want to come, baby boy?” Steve whispers. 

“Please, sir…”

“Come for me, Bucky.” He demands. “Right now.”

“Fuck!” Bucky cries out and wraps his arms around Steve to keep him right where he is. “Sir! Steve! Oh fuck…”

Steve can feel his hand and stomach get warm and sticky as Bucky starts to come. Any noise now stuck in his throat. His hole flutters tight and quick around Steve and Steve lets go. Lets the world snap shut. Feels the heat burn through him in white hot flashes as he empties out into the condom. 

He damn near collapses on top of Bucky and just manages to keep his weight from fully resting on him. Bucky’s kissing the top of his head and still shaking and whimpering in the aftermath. Body completely limp and just barely awake. Steve slowly pulls out of him and breaths kisses along his cheek. 

“There you go, good boy.” He says as he pets over his head. “You did so well. Listened just like the good boy you are. Did that feel good? Was it worth it?”

“Mm… да да. спасибо.” Bucky says just above a whisper. “хорошо. очень хорошо.”

Steve chuckles. “Can I get that in English?”

Eyes stay closed, but Bucky smiles. Weak and worned out but he manages and then tries to translate when his brain finds the words in English.

“That was… um… _yes. thank you, sir. felt good. very good_. Or something like that. I think. Can’t really remember.”

“Ah, okay,” Steve snickers. “You want me to do anything for you, baby? You want anything to drink? You…”

“Chocolate?” Bucky’s voice is so tiny when he asks for it. Hushed and wanting to hide away, but sneaks out anyway. “You… you said… I could have… if I…”

“Yes, baby. My good boy.” Steve wipes him clean with the same shirt as before and takes the blanket that he’d been using earlier to tuck it around him. “Just rest for a minute. I’ll be right back.”

After quickly shedding the condom and wiping himself clean, Steve pulls on a fresh pair of boxers and fetches the bag of Hershey kisses and a bottle of water from the kitchen. He’s already unwrapping a piece when he gets back to Bucky. The kid’s eyes are still closed and if he hadn’t just scratched his nose, Steve would think he was asleep. His hair is totally wrecked, his face still sweaty and tear streaked. 

“Open up, sweet boy.”

A smile pulls up on Bucky’s mouth and he doesn’t open his eyes when he does his mouth. Steve slips the chocolate onto his tongue and runs his hand over the back of Bucky’s neck. Massages a little there and then moves down to Bucky’s shoulder. 

“Mmm…” Bucky coos. “You keep doing that I’ma fall asleep.”

Steve glances at the clock. It’s about a quarter to twelve. He keeps kneading his fingers into Bucky’s muscles. 

“You want that?” He asks. “I can hold you a bit so you can sleep. I’ll make sure you’re up on time to leave. Or… I mean, if you’re tired you can just sleep here. It’s okay. If you want to, I mean.”

Eyes open, Bucky slowly eases himself up. He takes a sideway glance at Steve and pulls his eyebrows in. 

“I…” His head shakes again. “No.” 

“Okay.”

Steve supposes he should be used to this by now, but it really doesn’t keep the disappointment from showing up. Sometimes it feels a little incomplete without being able to hold him. To cuddle with him after all that. For them both to come down together. Steve’s paying, he could just demand it, but he’d never do that. 

Bucky sighs and cocks his lips to the side. 

“Thanks though.” He lets his gaze drift to Steve. “Can I have more chocolate anyway?”

“Sure you can.” Steve opens another and holds it up to Bucky’s lips. “Is this still okay?”

Bucky nods and opens his mouth for Steve to feed him the chocolate. As he chews, Steve readies another. What he doesn’t expect is Bucky letting his head fall to his shoulder. Temple resting gently there. Steve freezes. So does Bucky until Steve resumes trying to get the chocolate out of the foil, which now seems like a much harder task than it should be at the moment. This is hard for Bucky. To do this. So Steve wants to make it as nonchalant as possible. Ease him into wanting even more. 

When Steve starts moving again, Bucky lets himself relax a little bit more. He accepts another piece of chocolate and when he’s finished with that one, he whimpers a little as Steve teases him with the next by pulling it away when he was about to eat it. 

“Steve?”

Head still on his shoulder, Steve glances down at him. Bucky’s fiddling with his fingers.

“Yeah?”

“Know that… thing you did?”

“Which thing?” He chuckles. “I need you to be a bit more specific.”

He can tell Bucky smiles. 

“The, uh, the bathroom thing?”

Steve tries not to let the panic get the best of him. Hopes like hell that he hadn’t overstepped a boundary that Bucky didn’t feel comfortable setting despite how often Steve’s insisting he set them.

“Yes?”

“You think… maybe… um…”

“What is it, baby? You can tell me.”

Bucky sighs and nods his head, keeping it where it is.

“Maybe you could do more things like that sometime?” He asks. “If… I mean, you’re payin’ and all so only if you want. It’s just…”

“You like that?” Steve asks. If he didn’t know any better, he might actually be glowing. “Me doing that?”

“I… yeah. I like you doing that.”

“I like it, too, Bucky.” He takes in a deep breath. Asks, “Can I kiss your head, Bucky?” Bucky nods and Steve does.

By the time midnight thinks it’s okay to just show up, there’s several tiny balls of foil littered on the spot next to Steve and Bucky’s hand is on his knee. 12:01 comes. Then 12:02. It’s 12:03 when Bucky lifts up. Slow and hesitant. 

“Times up, Steve.” He says. 

“Kay,” Steve whispers. “I’ll go get your stuff from the kitchen.”

Bucky shakes his head and laughs as he dresses again. 

“Fuck no. You know what my mom would do if she found out I didn’t leave it all with you?” He rattles his head. “Wouldn’t be pretty, I can tell ya that. You keep it. Bring me the stuff when the food’s gone or something.”

“You sure?” Steve checks as he gets Bucky’s coat down for him. “Wouldn’t want your mom to be the one to yell at me this time.”

Bucky laughs. No one has insisted on scolding Steve since that call with Natasha, but Steve keeps worrying that it might happen again. 

“Nah, I’m tellin’ ya’. She’ll be more pissed if I take the food away from you.”

“Okay,” Steve murmurs as he helps Bucky into his jacket. “Bucky… thank you. For… for coming over. You don’t… it just really means a lot to me.”

“Yeah, Steve, no problem.” Bucky smiles like it’s nothing. “Didn’t think you’d mind.”

But Bucky doesn’t fully understand the significance of what’s happened today. Steve’s eaten a Thanksgiving meal without Sarah. Spent some time _with_ someone instead of holed up in bed wishing the world would disappear. It might not be the ideal, but it was something. Bookended with mind blowing orgasms because of Bucky and filled with love and support from all his friends. 

“No, Bucky, you don’t understand. You don’t know how much…”

Steve’s voice cracks and it’s too late. The tears come out of no where and Steve finds himself powerless to stop them. Bucky’s face falls and he steps up closer to Steve. Puts both hands at the side of his face.

“Steve? Don’t cry. Please?” He soothes. “It’s okay.”

“Shit, Bucky, I… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean…”

“No, no,” Bucky’s suddenly throwing his arms around him. Hugging him tight and not letting go. “Don’t apologize. It’s okay. I’m sorry your mom isn’t here with you. Sucks so much. But it’s okay to miss her. You don’t need to be sorry for that.”

Nodding, Steve smothers his face in Bucky’s shoulder and waits for the tears to stop. Which they do. It only takes a minute or so until he’s calmed down, but Bucky doesn’t let go right away. Not until Steve starts telling him he’s okay and that it’s fine. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Bucky asks. “Positive?”

“Yes. I swear. It’s just been a long time since I’ve done anything on Thanksgiving. Really, anything at all. So it means a lot that you came over.”

Bucky shrugs one shoulder and smirks. 

“Hey, that’s what I’m here for.” He says happily as he places Steve’s hat on his head.

Steve chuckles. “Yeah. That and to take my stuff.”

“Your stuff looks better on me anyway.” He teases. And then he turns for the door. Has his hand on the doorknob and everything. But Bucky pauses and turns back to Steve. “Have a good weekend, Steve.”

“Goodnight, B--”

He’s cut off with a kiss. Not just a quick peck either. Bucky’s free hand at the side of his face, opened mouth, no tongue. Bucky kisses him goodnight even though time is up. 

“Night, Steve.” He murmurs when he breaks away as though what he’s just done is part of their regular routine. “I’ll see you later.”

“Y-yeah.” Steve nods. Fog descending around him. “Get home safe, okay?”

Bucky gives him a thumb’s up and walks out the door. Leaving Steve with only the haze in his brain and the tingle on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I totally did _not_ mean for this chapter to be so long. Ended up being over 23,000 words. Sheesh. But I hope it was worth it!
> 
> Come find me on tumblr! [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/). A place for mostly marvel, steve and bucky shenanigans, Sebastian Stan, Chris Evans, Anthony Mackie and the rest of the MCU cast. :)
> 
> And since I'm a fan of visuals and haven't really done it with this fic:
> 
> Here's a basic idea of how I see Bucky:
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> And Steve:
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	5. Now That My Body Is Not an Infectious Disease Ward, Here's that Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Steve and Bucky will be experimenting with rope bondage and impact play and deal with subspace.

In the weeks that follow, Steve makes a desperate attempt to make heads or tails of what’s happening. Because what’s happening to him, this strange, protective, possessive even, feeling when it comes to regarding Bucky, is probably not the usual way one feels towards the person they’re paying to have sex with once a week. 

Everytime the kid comes in through his door, anytime he’s anywhere _near_ Steve, he just wants to keep him safe and make him laugh and hear him moan, whimper and plead. He wants to know more than just the little bit of snippets of Bucky’s life that he’s heard. He wants to tell him about himself. Steve wants to _know_ Bucky.

Whenever Bucky _leaves_ , Steve is filled with this horrible feeling. One he didn’t always get so strongly. Something bad is going to happen to him. To Bucky. Someone is going to hurt him. Rape him. Murder him. Leave his body strewn in some dumpster to rot and decay, and, what runs Steve cold, is the knowledge that he’d never even find out. Bucky could disappear, and Steve would never know. 

No one would think to, no one would _want_ to tell him. Those few people in Bucky’s life that actually know what it is that he does would have no inclination or motivation to let any of his customers know if something happened to him. From the bits and pieces that he’s let Steve in on, his family has no idea. 

He tries, so hard, to not think about such things. But the more time that passes, the stronger he feels about Bucky, the harder it is to let go.

Steve wasn’t sure what to expect things to be like between he and Bucky come the Monday after Thanksgiving. Bucky had broken his own, unspoken rule. Would he feel awkward? Uncomfortable? A sense of unease that drifts through like an unwelcome, ethereal fog? Something maybe neither of them would be prepared for.

True to form, Bucky simply waltzed into class that day, chatty and friendly with their classmates, and when he sat next to Steve there was nothing different between them.

“Hey, narc,” He greeted. Flicking the brim of Steve’s cap so that it lifted more above his brow. “Have a good weekend?”

Relief breathed around Steve. A long held breath finally released and settling down.

“It was okay. Went out with some friends on Saturday.” Friends who wouldn’t take no for an answer even if Steve wanted to deny them. Cheesy, family style restaurant. Tab at the bar. Hangover in the morning. “How about you, Bucky? Do anything fun?”

Bucky scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Nat dragged me out _all_ day Friday.”

“Shopping?”

On Black Friday? Definitely not the envy of Bucky’s activity. Steve’s never gone out shopping on Black Friday. Too many people for his liking. 

“ _Every_ where.” He moans as though they were still out there. Crowds and shouts and lines. “Made me carry everything a’course.” Bucky lets out an exasperated whine and drops his head down on the desk. “I totally hate her.”

Steve chuckles with a rattle of his head. “No you don’t.”

“Yeah yeah. Whatever.” He pouts when he picks his head up just enough to rest his chin on his folded arms.“S’not like I even had any _leftovers_ to look forward to.”

Getting a sideward glare from Bucky, Steve lifts his eyebrows. Slow and deliberate. 

“Too bad,” He replies. “I bet they would have been really good. Except for the sweet potatoes.” Steve makes a gagging noise. “Way too dry. And had these really stale marshmallows. Yuck.”

He gets a snort and a showy roll of Bucky’s eyes. There’s a reluctant chuckle in there as well. 

“You’re a dickhead.”

“Am I?” Steve laughs. “Watch it, or I’ll make you finish the pig lab all by yourself.”

The threat is empty of course. Steve would never do that, and Bucky clearly knows it. That doesn’t stop him from playing along. Giving Steve those big, submissive eyes of his. Letting his entire demeanor shift to sweet and endearing in just the blink of an eye. So easy to feign fear when there’s none to really be found.

“M’sorry, sir,” Of course, he chooses right _then_ to make his voice so innocent and compliant. “I’ll behave.”

That voice, the look, how it doesn’t always have Steve to be the one dropping to his knees, is beyond him. Maybe in some ways it does. Steve is like putty in his hands, even when he’s the one in control. 

Since he was a bit more prepared for the lab during the following two weeks, Bucky had come in all set and ready for what was going to happen. 

Not that it’s really made one lick of difference. The second the lab is upon them, Bucky’s white as a sheet. Sweat sheening off his skin and looks as though he’s ready to pass out. 

He follows Steve’s directions though, just like that first day. Bucky does his very best not to look over--Steve _did_ give him a gentle reminder that he’d punish him if he did--and just reads the instructions for the lab while Steve carries it out. For Steve, it doesn’t get any easier either. Despite Sharon’s enthusiasm about it, there’s absolutely _nothing_ enjoyable about slicing into the pig and examining its insides. 

The first lab after Thanksgiving, Steve had been all set to offer Bucky a ride again. Seeing how the kid really didn’t fair much better. Except at least having the knowledge this time of what was happening, he looked ready to fall over again. Only when Steve went to find him outside, Bucky was already tucked in someone’s arms. Steve stepped back, not wanting to interfere. 

“You need me to carry you, dude?”

Bucky moans and shakes his head within the confines of his friend’s chest. 

“Don’t be a dick, Barton.” He mumbles. “Just get me home ‘fore I get sick everywhere.”

“Alright, alright,” Clint chuckles as he guides him away. Arm around him to keep him steady. “You puke in my car, though, you’re cleaning it up.”

As soon as they get further away, Steve moves again and watches as Clint ushers Bucky home. 

What Steve feels while watching can’t really be described as jealously since he’s filled with comfort knowing that there’re people willing to take care of Bucky when he needs it. More than that is that Bucky’ll accept it. Which is more than Steve can say for himself when he was younger. Not that he didn’t _ever_ accept help. It just took a hell of a lot longer for Steve to come out and admit when he needed it. 

Still, Steve can’t help wishing that Bucky would let him be the one to take care of him. Trust him enough just to come to him when necessary. Or simply because he wants to come to Steve. 

It’s not as though Steve’s entirely selfless in his desires. Taking care of Bucky, making him feel special and safe, it gives Steve such a rush of meaning. Like he’s finally found his place. His lot in life to take care of his Bucky. His and forever not his. 

Then last week, upon completing the lab, Bucky hadn’t rushed out when class was over. Instead, Steve finds him with his head resting on the desk, his cheek flat on the blacktop. Eyes closed and lips parted. Phone in his hand and grimace on his face.

“Bucky?”

He moans a bit and pries his eyes open. The look he gives Steve is so pitiful, Steve almost laughs. He looks like a tiny puppy. Trying so hard just to do something simple and falling all over himself.

“You okay?” Steve asks. “You need help getting up?”

The only answer he gets is Bucky looking at his phone and frowning. He stares at the screen for a long while before peering back up. Conflict painted all over his face. Grey eyes doing what they can to hold Steve’s gaze.

“Steve, I, um…” He tries to say. Weak and shaky. “I got no one to get me today.”

Steve can hear the unspoken question. The request Bucky is too hesitant to say out loud. At least, he thinks. As hope rivers through him. His place right in front of him, arms’ reach.

“Do you want…” Steve’s first offer is to take Bucky home, but he’s pretty sure that’s not what Bucky wants. He’s reluctant to give up his home. Understandable.“You wanna come to my place again?”

His eyes close again and Bucky turns his head so that his forehead’s pressed against the cool desktop. 

“M’sorry,” He mutters. “You don’t gotta if you don’t wanna. I…”

“Come on, baby,” Steve interrupts and puts his hands under Bucky’s shoulders. Helps him to his feet. “You can stay as long as you need.”

Bucky doesn’t protest at all. He just lets Steve help him up and then leans most of his weight into him as they slowly make their way to Steve’s car. He’s not as sick as that first time. There’s a bit of color in his cheeks and his eyes aren’t nearly as glossy. But he’s still pretty faint and needs help walking.

Steve gets them back to his place in under fifteen minutes and by the time he’s bringing Bucky over to the couch, Bucky’s teeth are rattling together. When Steve tries to sit him down, Bucky holds on and brings him down with him.

“You want something?” Steve asks. “The ice pack? Water?”

“Mm-mm.” Bucky murmurs and nuzzles his head in Steve’s chest. “M’cold.” He must be. He’s shaking like a leaf. Winter winds trying hard to clip its feeble grip on the branch. “You’re warm. Just wanna stay here for a sec. That okay?”

“Of course it is.”

More than okay. Steve wraps an arm around him. Rubs up and down to warm him up. The only times Bucky’s ever affectionate like this are on Thursday nights. After Steve’s paid. Before sex.

After a few minutes of holding him close, of Bucky snuggling into him as his shaking lessens, Steve adds his other arm to pull him closer. Bucky ends up with his head on Steve’s shoulder, face smothered into his neck. Where he lets out one of those exaggerated moans of his.

“Thank _god_ we’re all done with that.” He mumbles. “Dunno how much more I could’a handled.” Bucky picks his head up and blinks. He glances around as though suddenly realizing just how close he is to Steve and then slides away. He clears his throat. “I guess it’s safe to say I won’t be joining the medical field.”

“Why not?” Steve chuckles. The side Bucky was up against feeling quite lonely without him there. “Don’t you wanna try operating on someone one day? Cracking someone’s chest open…”

“Oh stop!” Bucky whines and shoves his fingers into his ears. His eyes are closed as he chants _not listening, m’not listening_ over and over.

Steve tries not to laugh as Bucky goes on for a minute or so. Until he peeks with one eye to see that Steve’s no longer saying anything. Taking a chance, Bucky slowly removes the fingers in his ears. Steve waits until his hands are back in his lap before doing it again. 

“Open heart surgery is a good one…”

“No!” 

Bucky yelps and plugs his ears again. This time, Steve cracks up and grabs Bucky’s arm to yank his hand away from his head. Only Bucky puts up a fight. Still chanting away and struggling not to laugh. Okay, not a problem. Steve simply digs his fingers into Bucky’s exposed sides. Most ticklish save for the soles his feet. 

The subsequent squeak and jolt that follow makes Steve laugh even harder as Bucky first collapses to the side and then squirms under Steve’s weight.

“No!” He pleads. Cheeks bright red. Moisture forced to his eyes. “Steve! No, please, stop!”

Barks of laughter come out between his begging while Steve just continues to tickle him. Bucky rolls and tries to escape the attack, only to resort to his normal tactics of curling around _Steve_ himself and whimpering into his side.

In a mercy showing mood--though Steve’s not opposed to thoughts of doing this with him tied to the bed one day--he relents and catches himself _just_ before he’d kiss the top of Bucky’s head. 

He can’t kiss him. Bucky’s not his to kiss. Even though Steve wants to. All the time. Just take Bucky and slam him up against the wall. Cup his face or wrap a hand around his neck and… claim him. Make Buck his for everyone to see. Maybe it’s fucked up, it certainly might be, but that’s what Steve wants. To make Bucky his and his alone. For Bucky to _know_ it, _want_ it just as much. 

He’s not kissed him like that last goodbye kiss on Thanksgiving. Not after their time is up. Not like _that_ anyway. Because Bucky _has_ given him kisses right before he leaves through the door. Out into another world that Steve doesn’t get to be a part of. They’ve been light and small. Just a quick exchange of slight affection between their lips before Bucky hurries out and leaves. 

It’s hard not to think about. That first taboo kiss and all the tiny ones that have followed. With Bucky, Steve feels free. Like something inside of him has clicked. The middle part of the novel Steve didn’t even know he was writing. He can lose himself in the fantasy. Trapped in a bubble where the stars have aligned and all is right with the world.

When really, nothing is right with the world. There is no world in which Bucky is actually his. In any way. He’s not his boyfriend, he’s not his to claim. Steve is his customer. Part of a game--Bucky’s job. They both have their roles to play and it’s supposed to stay that way. Which it’s not. Not for Steve.

Lines have been blurring between customer and provider. Mixing together and forming something different.

And Steve isn’t sure what that means. 

***

Steve’s phone is buzzing in his pocket. Most people would just let it go to voicemail. It would make sense to do now since it’s cold and sort of raining, but more like a continuous mist of spit coming from the sad clouds above. A few flakes of wet snow mixed in with it. Like Mother Nature just can’t make up her mind. 

But it makes Steve far too anxious not to answer when he can. What if it’s an emergency? What if someone needs him? What if it’s important? What if it’s like last time?

Cold, windy, rainy, Steve huddles under the nearest awning and digs the phone out. While the number isn’t stored in his contacts, he does recognize it. Knots pull in his stomach as the worst case scenarios begin playing out in his head between seeing the caller and answering.

“Hello?”

“Hello, I’m looking for Steven Rogers.”

A lump forms in Steve’s throat at the sound of the voice on the other end. Deep and friendly. British accent. Easily recognizable, and Steve feels sick. 

“This… this is Steve.”

Steve tries to keep the obvious shake out of his voice. He doesn’t know if he’s all the successful, but hopefully it won’t carry over on the phone.

“Ah, Mr. Rogers, this is Dr. Xavier, Dean of the Art Department of Brooklyn College.”

The cold air is now much too warm. Hot even. Hard to breathe. Steve pulls at the collar of his shirt and tries not to take too long to answer.

“Yes, hello, um…” Hell, why is it so hot now? “Dr. Xavier, how can I help you?”

“Well, Steve, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you. Is it at all possible for you to come by my office this afternoon? I’m here till five.”

“Oh…” No. Oh no. Why? “My, uh, my last class ends at 3:45. I can… be there around 4:00? Is that…”

“That’s perfect.” Dr. Xavier agrees. “I’ll see you then.”

“Okay. Um, yes. Thank you, sir.”

The phone goes dead and the world spins dangerously fast around him as each horrible thought plays out in his head. 

_He’s being kicked out of school._

_His work is no good to stay in the art’s program._

_They’re pulling his financial aide._

Steve wasn’t always like this. Didn’t panic at the drop of a hat. One vague phone call that turns a Monday afternoon into a mountain of anxiety. 

There was optimism and hope. Bright sunny days and a positive outlook no matter what was happening. Sam used to call Steve the pillar of light for him and all their friends. The one who never let them doubt themselves or the world around them.

Now, any pinch, any sort of hitch to his expectations, and Steve feels like the world is being pulled apart by the seams. It’s painful, knowing who he used to be and trying to find a sliver of that person again. The weight on his lungs is so much that he pulls out his inhaler. Takes a deep breath, holds the medicine in for a few seconds. The worst few seconds. Seconds that feel as though they’ll never end until he can breathe out again. 

Tears prick at his eyes. Steve rubs his fingers across them and fumbles with his phone as he tries to text Sam.

**Freaking out**

It takes a few people passing by for Steve to remember that he’s just standing outside. They all stare at him. At the guy just standing there doing nothing. About to break down in a downpour of tears. Of course, the logical side of his brain is trying to convince him that _no_ one has so much as even _glanced_ in his general direction. Steve is so busy unable to listen to that rational side, that he nearly leaps out of his own skin when his phone buzzes. Still clenched tightly in his hand.

**Sam: Everything is okay Steve. What happened?**

Steve tries to focus on the first half of Sam’s response. _Everything is okay_. There’s nothing condescending about the message. No telling him to calm down or to breathe or relax. Just plain and simple. Everything is okay. 

**Steve: The dean called me. wants to have a meeting.**

He shivers a little. Probably more from the cold than from anything else. Steve should get inside. Glancing around, he sees that he’s at least gotten himself a building away from where he needs to be. Steve tightens his jacket around him and continues on his way. Receives Sam’s answer after he takes only a few steps. 

**Sam: Do you know why? Or are you just panicking yourself?**

That makes Steve chuckle at least. Sam knows him all too well. He waits until he’s inside to reply.

**Steve: Panicking myself**

He’s willing to admit it. Steve knows he’s being completely irrational, even if Sam will never belittle him by saying so. One thing he can always count on Sam for is giving him--or, at the very least, _trying_ to give him--what he needs. A shoulder to cry on, a hug, a kick in the ass. 

Sam never babied him when they were little, even when others might have. When Steve struggled with his small size and so many ailments. Even if Steve was, well, _when_ Steve was stubborn and reluctant to accept any help, Sam was patient and waited until Steve came around and just finally asked for it. Never approached helping him with any _I-told-you-so_ attitude. Just helped when help was needed. 

Just one of the many reasons Steve still feels so damn guilty for running out on him. No matter what Sam says, how often he assures Steve that he’s never been angry with him, Steve knows he should have been here when he returned from his combat tours. He should have been here when he was relieved of active duty. He just should have been here. 

Steve plops down on the bench outside the lab room just as his phone goes off again. He’s early enough that there’s still a class going on in there. That gives him enough time to chat a bit.

**Sam: ok so you don’t know why. doesn’t mean it’s gonna be bad news Steve. You know that.**

He does know that. Really. It’s just… it _might_ be bad news. Before Steve gets the chance to dwell on that, his phone buzzes. More than once. He glances down to see that Sam is calling now.

“Hello?” Steve answers.

“Talk to me, man,” Sam says immediately. “What’s going on?”

Steve sighs. Has he really gotten so predictable? 

“Nothing,” Steve mumbles. “Momentary freak out.”

“That wasn’t nothing, Steve.” He argues. Sam pauses and then says, “It… Steve, it won’t always be bad news.” 

Those words feel like a bullet to his chest. Steve leans his head back on the wall and tries to ignore the rush of memories that flood through him. 

“I know.” Steve whispers. “It could… be good news.”

“Sure can.” Sam encourages this line of thinking. “And even if it _is_ bad news, that doesn’t mean…”

“S’not the end of the world?”

Even if it feels like it. That doesn’t mean it really is. Steve can always pick up the broken pieces of whatever’s shattered and put it back together. Sure, there’ll be cracks. Jagged and zigzagged. Some so deep they reach the inner core of his very being. But that doesn’t mean he can’t be whole again. 

Just like he’s really starting to see. To believe again after all these years. 

“Exactly.” Sam agrees. “You’re good then?”

“Good?” Better not to lie. Steve’s not good enough at it anyway to pull it off. Especially with Sam. “How’s better?”

“Hey, I’ll take better.” He chuckles. “You’re gonna be okay though, right?”

“Oh yeah. I’ll be alright. Just got one class to get through and then I can find out what’s going on.”

“How’s the class? Nothing too boring I hope?”

Steve smiles and takes a glance out the glass doors. At least the universe is smiling for him on this moment. Bucky’s standing out there with a group of their classmates; Jim, Kate, Eli, Kamala, Billy and Teddy. Cigarette pressed between his lips as he talks with his hands and makes the rest of them laugh. Steve’s hat swimming on his head. 

“Yeah,” He whispers. And then says louder. “Yeah, it’s a good one.”

“Alright well, lemme know how everything goes, okay?” Sam requests. Voice gentle and still a bit pinched with concern. “And try not to panic on your way there.”

“I’ll try. Thanks, Sam.”

“No problem, man.”

Steve ends the call and takes another glimpse out the doors. Only Bucky and Jim are smoking, yet the rest of them are still out there. Lousy weather and all. Chilly winds and icy rain. Yet they’re all standing around the two smokers. Or, really, Bucky. He’s the one talking. The one making them laugh and, by the way he reaches out and touches or winks or combs fingers through his hair, flirting with them. No one can get enough of this damn kid. He understands all too well. 

He’s still sitting there when Bucky tosses his cigarette and the group heads inside. Bucky has his arm looped with Kate’s as they pile into the hall to wait for the class still in session to end. They’re all still chatting away, soft now so as not to disturb any other classes that might be going on. When they all gather in their little group across the hall, Bucky doesn’t glace in Steve’s direction, but he does secure the hat on top of his head. Steve chuckles to himself and opens Candy Crush on his phone. 

After only a few moves, he happens to catch a bit of what the others happen to be discussing.

“So then it’s all settled?” Kate is saying. “Tomorrow at eight?”

“Everyone can make it, right?” Eli asks.

Bucky chimes in with, “You better. I got the room for us.”

There’s a collective murmur of yeses as they all agree to whatever plans they’re making. 

“You think anyone else might be interested?” Billy wonders. “It doesn’t just have to be us.”

“Oh, Bucky, what about Steve?” Kamala suggests. She makes her comment quietly, almost soft enough that Steve would have missed it if there was any noise at all in the hall. “Would he…”

“Who, grandpa narc?” Bucky remarks. Makes _no_ attempt to lower his voice. Which, given the quick glances made in Steve’s direction, none of them seem prepared for. Steve doesn’t lift his gaze, but he does roll his eyes to indicate, yes, he’s heard. “Yeah, he’ll come. Trust me, he can use _all_ the help he can get.”

“Okay, what’re you signing me up for?” Steve asks, eyes still focused on his phone. “And stop being a brat.”

When he peers up at him, Bucky’s chuckling and adjusting the brim of the hat so he can see properly. 

“Um, Steve,” Billy says, and blushes, for some reason, when Steve glances at him. “We’re, uh, having a study group this week and next. For the final. Word is Professor Gray’s finals are really fucking…” He cuts himself off as though swearing is about to get him in trouble. “Um, I mean, just…”

“We’re getting together tomorrow at eight,” Kate interrupts to finish for him. “In the library. Study area 3. You wanna come?”

They’re all looking at him, waiting for his answer. Worried that maybe the invitation is just an extension of courtesy, Steve quickly scans their faces. None of them appear put off by the idea of him being there even though he’s a decade or almost a full decade older than all of them. He saves Bucky for last. Who’s giving him a pouty look. The same one he gives when he wants something from him. Bucky wants him to come. Joy and nerves tapdance along his heart.

“Um, yeah.” He accepts. Too nervous in the face of all these other people to smile the way he feels it inside. “That sounds good. You sure you don’t mind if I swing by?”

“No!” Kamala is quick to assure. High-pitched and with a rapid shake of her head. “You can come.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair and tries to keep from seeming any more awkward than necessary. He nods and smiles.

“Okay. Then, I guess I’ll be there.” He replies just as the other class begins exiting the room.

They go on to make a few more comments about what they plan on covering and how they think it’s best to pair off for whatever method they plan on using to study tomorrow. Steve just gathers his things and heads into the room. 

A bit of joy sing-songs through him as he sits down, tries to make light of this whole thing when he feels downright giddy. Not because of the invitation to join their study group, though, to be honest, it does feel nice to be included. The reason he’s really going is because of Bucky. That expression of his, sweet and endearing, trying to turn a maybe into a yes, it sends a jolt through his entire body. Almost makes him forget about his worries over this impending trip to the dean’s after class. 

The group of them end up coming in just a minute or so after Steve is seated and gradually disperse as they each take their seats. Steve makes a point to pay closer attention to the notes he’s not really looking at than Bucky as he makes his way over. 

“You _know_ …” Bucky murmurs. Drops his notebook on the desk with a thud and sits down. Chin in hand, and instead of continuing with his statement, just stares out at him.

“ _What_?” Steve asks. By the mischievous gleam in his eyes, the quirk of his lips, Bucky’s in quite a frisky mood. “What do I know?”

His eyebrows flick up and he smirks at him. All knowing and cheeky. He blows a bit of air through pursed lips. Almost a raspberry, but not quite there yet. 

“Kamala’s got a thing for you.” He says. 

“Wait what?” Steve resists the urge to look across the room where Kamala sits with Kate. “She’s never even talked to me.”

Which is not entirely true. They’ve shared a few brief conversations while on breaks. Just simple, _hi, how’s your day? You like the school? What’s your major?_ type deals. Nothing to warrant anything that would even resemble a crush. 

“So does Billy, but he’s dating Teddy.” Bucky goes on to say, completely ignoring Steve’s response. “Or well,” He rubs his index finger just under his nose, “At least, he thinks you’re hot. Teddy shouldn’t get all bent outta shape about it. He kinda looks like you.”

This time, Steve does take a look over to the people Bucky’s speaking about. Teddy and Billy sit at the front of the room. Aside from the blonde hair and blue eyes, Steve doesn’t really see the resemblance. 

“Bucky, what’re you--”

“So you’re gonna come tomorrow, right?” Bucky interrupts. “Kinda need ya’ there.”

“You need me there?” Steve questions. The page he’s just turned to in his notebook flaps a bit skeptically. On the same wave-length as Steve. “Why?”

Once again, instead of sticking with the subject _he’s_ brought into light, Bucky licks his lips and starts doodling on the cover of his notebook. Nonsensical patterns. Just curves and spirals and loops.

“So, you gotta take another science credit?” He asks. “Before you can concentrate on your major?”

Steve rattles his head. Talking to Bucky is like a damn rollercoaster today. Ups and downs and twists and turns. 

“What?”

Bucky smirks. Seems to enjoy putting Steve in this mental stupor. Rare form today.

“I still need four more science credits to complete my core classes if I wanna graduate next June.” He shrugs. “I should’a taken ‘em my first few semesters but, uh…”

“You were lazy?” Steve guesses. Pulls a little gaping mouth drop from Bucky. “Hm?”

“Not… I mean…” He scoffs and snickers. “I’m an English major!” Bucky exclaims. “You’re an _art_ major!” Warmth puddles in Steve’s stomach. Just like it always does whenever Bucky brings up something about Steve. Something that tells Steve he listens and remembers things about him. “The fuck do we need to study science for?”

“So we can get a well-rounded education.” He recites the same answer he’s been given over and over whenever he’s wondered the very same thing. When Bucky narrows his eyes and clicks his tongue, long, drawn out and exaggerated, he tries again. “To give exposure to other options?” No go. Bucky’s still giving him that look. “Okay, okay,” Steve gives in with a laugh. “I have no idea. Probably to get more money from us. Go on, kid, finish what you were saying.”

Bucky grumbles something too under his breath for Steve to catch what, but he snorts and goes on.

“Yeah, so, I was just wondering if you’re gonna take the next class. Y’know, Bio 102?”

“Oh.” Steve’s gradually started the process of registering for next semester. He’s spoken with an advisor on what direction he should be heading in and narrowed down which core classes to be focusing on and getting done. “I think so. Why?”

“Uh, well, cause, this semester…” Bucky’s voice trails off. His mouth stays open, but nothing comes out. Nerves play along the edge of his eyes as he quickly turns away from Steve and is suddenly very interested in those doodles again. “It was, y’know, kinda cool.”

“Cool?” Steve repeats the word. Not sure where Bucky’s trying to go with this.

“Yeah. I mean, with…” He clears his throat. A forced cough from the sounds of it. Steve’s never seen the kid act so thrown, “you. As, y’know, my, um, lab partner.”

Elation bubbles up inside his belly. Bursting with joy and bringing smile after smile to Steve’s face. Lines blurring. Elephant nudging closer. 

“It’s been fun.” Steve agrees. Hoping like hell to pull off an air of nonchalance. 

“Right, fun.” Bucky still hasn’t recovered his normal suave and debonair attitude. He fumbles over a few words and drops his pen. Mocking him and all his efforts. “So I was wondering if maybe… next semester, we could… do it… again?” 

“You mean…” The thought gets stuck in Steve’s mind. Words catching in his throat. Bucky doesn’t want their class time to end when the semester does. “You wanna be lab partners again? Register for the same class?”

“Oh well, y’know, um, if you don’t want to, I--”

“I want to.” Steve says softly. Can’t even really believe his own ears when he says it. 

The end of the semester hasn’t really been something he’s wanted to think about. The limited time he gets to see Bucky _now_ has been tormenting. These two extra days, the few extra hours he gets to spend with him are magical. Having them taken away is nothing short of torture. Now Steve might not have it happen. Bucky wants to pair up again. Not lose the shared time. Like, maybe, he enjoys it too. 

A smile pulls up on Bucky’s lips. Easily recognizable. It’s the same grin that he gets when Steve showers him with praise and compliments. Shy and bashful. Almost like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. Bucky picks his head up and glances over at him again. Chewing on his lip.

“You do?” He whispers. Totally blown by Steve’s answer. “Really?”

“Yeah, of course.” Steve assures him. Sees the disbelief and doubt in Bucky’s eyes and wants more than anything to be able to erase it. To reach in and pull out whatever insecurities cloud his own self-judgement. “Sweet boy…” Steve coos and cups the side of Bucky’s face. Bucky’s eyes flutter close upon contact and he leans into the touch. “Why wouldn’t I?”

When Bucky opens his eyes again they’re wet with tears. Glistening on the very tips of his lashes like ice on the winter shorelines.

“I don’t… know.” He breathes. “I just… thank you, Steve.” 

“Sorry I’m late!” Dr. Gray announces as she hustles into the room. Dropping her bag on the desk and calling attention to the class before Steve gets the chance to say anything to Bucky’s comment.

Bucky immediately jerks away from Steve’s touch and faces forward. He chews on his pen and jots down a few notes just like he normally would throughout the lecture. But every now and then, Steve catches him peeking over in his direction. Big, pleased smile plastered on his face. 

***

“You look nervous.” Bucky says as they get ready to leave. Class having ended a few minutes ago and Bucky now back to his normal self. “You nervous about something?”

Steve’s hands tremble a bit as he pulls his heavier than usual books into his backpack. The inhaler in his pocket, promising to be there in case he needs it.

“Um, I have to go see the dean of the art department.”

“Oh yeah? How come?”

He shrugs and flings his bookbag over his shoulder. At the same time, Bucky stretches his arms high above his head and it makes the bottom of his shirt lift up over his belly. Where there’re a few bite marks and hickies. 

Steve can’t help staring. Since those marks are practically _screaming_ at him. It feels as though his brain’s short-circuited on him. He should be answering the question, but no words are coming to mind. Bucky glances down and tugs on his shirt so that he’s covered again.

“M’sorry, sir,” He whispers. Sounding careful. Like he needs to tread on gentle waters. “I…”

“I don’t know why.” Steve interrupts. Mind reconnecting. He doesn’t need Bucky thinking he’s got to explain himself. As much as Steve _hates_ the idea of someone else putting marks all over Bucky’s body, he gets it. Understands that this is Bucky’s job. He’s not about to ask him to stop just because he’s got a crush on him. “I got a call just before class. He asked me to come in.”

Buttoning up his jacket, Bucky nods and also goes on pretending that nothing just happened there.

“I got called down to the dean’s last semester.” He comments. Picks up his book and shoves his pen in his pocket. “Know what she wanted?”

Steve shakes his head. “No, what?”

“Dr. Munroe called me in to tell me I’d made the Dean’s List.” Bucky gives him a smirk. Crinkles his nose and everything. “So, you never know.”

This kid. He really has no idea how damn adorable he is. Given the utter shock and honor he showed earlier, when Steve agreed to sign up for another class with him, Bucky’s not always as arrogant and confident as he lets on. But he’s still happy to try and pick Steve up. Make _him_ feel like a million bucks when he’s having self-doubt. 

“Thanks, Buck.” Steve smiles. Still feels those knots pulling tight in his stomach, but between Sam’s encouragement and Bucky’s optimism, it makes facing this fate a little easier.

Bucky shrugs as he makes his way to the door. He waves once over his shoulder.

“No problem, narc.” He calls on his way out. “And good luck!”

Good luck. Hopefully that’s all Steve needs to get through whatever this meeting has in store for him. The words weigh down on him though. It’s hard, so _fucking hard_ to let them guide him. The last time, that trip to the doctor’s office, he’d been so damn sure, so _positive_ that everything was going to be fine. There wasn’t a single doubt in his mind that Sarah’s diagnosis would come back healthy. Her recent fatigue and loss of appetite, even the sudden weight loss, it was due to stress. The idea of empty-nest syndrome. Steve being a senior. Graduating high school and heading off to college. Nothing, absolutely nothing could have prepared him for what the doctor said. 

_“Stomach cancer.” He says. At his desk. Shiny and maple. Clear of clutter. Fancy computer to the side. Tons of diplomas on the wall behind him. “Advanced.”_

_The dark skinned man is staring at them. Brown eyes deep with fantastic wonder. Like he sees magic when there’s nothing but the ordinary. The only thing Steve can feel is the word he’s said. Cancer. It cuts through him like tiny shards of glass. His hand has slipped from Sarah’s._

_Sarah clears her throat. The noise is muffled and unclear through all the water that seems to have surrounded Steve’s head._

_“What stage, Stephen?”_

_The doctor, Stephen Strange’s his name according to all those diplomas--not to mention one of Mama’s colleagues--opens his mouth only to shut it again._

_“It’s okay, Stephen,” She assures him. “You can tell me.”_

_He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and nods. “Four.” He whispers. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Sarah.”_

_Steve whips his gaze over to Sarah. The resolve on her face, the bravery in her eyes, it’s like she’s preparing for something. Something Steve’s not willing to let happen._

_“Wait, what does that mean?” He asks. “What’d we do? Chemo or something? It’s okay. We’ll do whatever we have to, right, Mama?”_

_“Steve, angel…”_

_“What’re you worried about your hair falling out?” Steve laughs. Outright laughs. Because, what a silly thing to worry about. Mama’ll be beautiful no matter what. But still… “I’ll get you the best wig available, don’t worry.”_

_“No, baby…”_

_“Don’t worry about insurance or whatever, we’ll make it work,” He assures her. “There’s lots’a places that’ll help pay and once you’re better…”_

_“Steve?”_

“What?” _Steve snaps at Dr. Strange. Not really interested in anything he has to say after he’s scared his mama so badly. “What do you want?”_

_“Stage four is…” He takes in a deep breath and shakes his head. “I’m afraid there’s really only a matter of comfort treatment options at this point.” Dr. Strange slides a few pamphlets across his pretty desk. “That’s just a little something to get you started. I have a lot of resources that I can…”_

_“Fuck you!” Steve shouts. Leaping to his feet and slamming his hands on this fucking ugly desk. He flings the papers to the floor._

_“Steven!” Sarah exclaims. Shocked. There’s no hint of scolding or anger in her voice. “Honey, please…”_

_“No! I don’t care what you say!” He’s yelling at Dr. Strange. Can’t seem to stop. “I don’t care if you’re some “magic” oncologist,” Or whatever nickname he’s gotten himself in his field, “You’re full of shit. She’s going to be_ fine! _Just you wait! Right, Mama?” Steve looks back at her. “Tell him, Mama! Tell him you’re going to be fine!”_

_Sarah holds a hand out for him. There’re tears in her eyes. None of them fall over. Just swim around and glisten._

_“No, Mama,” Steve pleads. “Just… tell him. Please. Tell him you’re gonna be fine.”_

_Since he hasn’t taken her hand, Sarah reaches forward and takes it on her own. Presses his knuckles to her lips like she used to whenever she had to leave him in the hospital overnight._

_“You’re going to be fine, Steven.”_

_“Mama…” Steve whimpers. Face crumpling and just falling to his knees in front of her. “Mama,” He cries into her belly. “I love you.”_

_“I love you, angel.”_

The world had bled over in horror after the day. A week later, for the second opinion, even Dr. Strange had suggested it, it made no difference. Steve spent the following three months just trying to make her comfortable. Following Dr. Strange’s advice, all of it, even if he, unwittingly, considered him the enemy. The man who made all of this happen, no matter how illogical he knew it to be. 

She deteriorated so fast. Death quickly shaping around her and taking the warm, strong woman away and replacing her with a frail, weakened one. Unable to even get to the bathroom on her own in the end. Thanks to her time as a nurse, Steve had been able to get excellent home care for her. Not that it prepared him for losing her in such little time. It felt like a blink and his life shattered down around him.

Thoughts consuming him so completely, the trip to the art department doesn’t take long. In fact, it probably goes even faster than usual. Steve arrives in record breaking time and finds himself knocking on Dr. Xavier’s door before he’s even given himself a minute or two to prepare. 

The door opens and Steve’s heart is pounding so hard against his ribs it feels as though it’s ready to pop. Dr. Xavier looks up from his wheelchair with a big smile on his face and waves him in.

“Mr. Rogers, come in, come in,” He says. “Please, have a seat.” 

He rolls his chair just enough to move aside and let Steve pass. Steve is sure to give a proper greeting and sits as Dr. Xavier moves to the other side of his desk.

“My apologies for calling you in on such short notice.” He starts off as though, as the dean, he doesn’t have the right to such a thing. “Thank you for coming in.”

“Oh, it’s… not a problem.” Steve replies. Tries to sit up straight and finds himself sitting up _too_ straight. 

“You’re probably wondering why I’ve asked you here today.” He states. Cutting right into Steve’s chest as he readies himself for this. “Well, a former student of mine, Scott Summers, is curating an exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art and he’s asked me to select a few students for him to interview so he can pick one to do a few pieces for it.”

“Oh.” Steve can’t help smiling. The relief that floods through him is like a breath of fresh air. “Did you want me to make an announcement to the classes I assist with or…?”

Dr. Xavier chuckles and shakes his head. “No, Steve, I’d like to recommend _you_.”

Everything goes silent. As though the world has just stopped moving around him. In the best kind of way.

“You… you do?” Steve asks. “Really?”

“I certainly do.” He assures him while pulling out a file with Steve’s name on it. Flipping through, Steve recognizes copies of some of his art from his admissions’ profile. “Your work is impressive. Not just enough to get you admitted to our program, but those in the department you’ve worked with are very pleased with how you’ve interacted with other students during lectures and lab time, not to mention all the help you’ve been throughout the semester with setting up all the displays. Quite honestly, if Scott doesn’t pick you, I’d be rather surprised.” Dr. Xavier rests his laced fingers on his desk and grins. “So, how about it, Steve? Would you be interested?”

“Y-yes!” Steve exclaims. “Yes, sir, I… I’d be honored at such a chance.”

“Well, good!” He lets out a hearty laugh. “It’s a commissioned job, too. I don’t know if I mentioned that. Pays quite handsomely. Scott’ll be here on Thursday. Your admissions’ profile should do it, but I’d understand if you want to add a few extra pieces. Don’t try to kill yourself trying to improve it. I’m telling you, you have an excellent chance at this.”

“I… thank you!” Steve can't seem to wipe the grin off his face. The excitement that runs through him is too much to contain. “I, so um, what time…?”

“Oh, what’s your schedule like on Thursday?”

“I have a class in the morning,” He tries to process what his normal routine on Thursday is like. Which is actually a little more difficult than it should be since Steve is trying not to get up and dance around Dr. Xavier’s office right now. “Then, uh, I’ll be here. Working till about five.”

“Well that’s perfect,” He says. “How about we schedule you in for noon? Does that sound good?”

“Whatever works best for you, or, or him, I guess. I mean,” Steve snaps his mouth shut to keep from rambling on any further. “That’s fine.”

“Great!” Dr. Xavier extends a hand across his desk. “Then we’ll see you Thursday at noon.”

Steve takes his hand in a firm shake. Hopes he’s not trembling too much to be noticed.

“Thank you!” He says again and would probably just keep on repeating the phrase over and over if he didn’t think enough to keep his mouth shut. “I’ll see you Thursday.”

Stardust floats around Steve’s mind as he exits the office, somehow managing to slip back into his coat without making a complete fool of himself. Little flecks that glisten in the setting sun casting golden rays across an urban meadow. Steve can’t believe what’s just happened. 

An interview for an exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art. This is something he’s always dreamed about. Having his art displayed in a museum. And not because he paid to have it there, but because someone picked it. Someone else who deemed it worthy, saw talent where Steve is unsure if there really is any, picked his work. Deciding to put their name with his in complete faith that he won’t let them down. He doesn’t know if he should laugh or throw up. 

Steve pulls out his phone. All he can do is stare at it. Really, he’s just so overwhelmed right now he doesn’t even know how to properly articulate anything let alone make a call. Then again, maybe he shouldn’t tell anyone. If he does, he’ll get good wishes, and “good vibes” sent his way. Lots of encouragement and _you’ll get it, Steve, for sure!_

While all that’s so greatly appreciated, Steve has no idea what he’d do without his friends, he’s not so sure he could handle having to tell them he didn’t get it if that ends up being the case. 

“Steve?”

The sound of his name blows some of that dust away and Steve realizes he’s actually standing the middle of the walkway, outside, just gawking at his phone. He rattles his head to clear some more and sees who called him.

“Hey, Sharon!” He says brightly. Can’t seem to keep the cheer out of his voice. “What’re you still doing here?”

He’s pretty sure her classes should have ended for the day. At least, as per conversations with her which Steve remembers.

But there she is. Wrapped up in a pretty, white peacoat, red umbrella over her head since it’s drizzling again and like a dummy Steve’s just been standing there in it. Her bright, yellow hair is pulled back in a ponytail today and with it out of her face, Steve can see her blue eyes shine when she laughs in response to his greeting.

“I was using the language lab,” She tells him. “Studying for my Spanish final. How about you? Why are you still here?”

“Oh, I…” Steve glances over his shoulder and back at the building he’s just left. “I had a meeting with the dean of the art department.”

“Really? Everything okay?” She asks. “You’re not getting kicked out, right?” Sharon purses her lips in a smirk. “Wouldn’t want my Lit buddy to run out on me.”

Steve chuckles. The two of them have already signed up for English 102 and, coincidentally, happened to register for the same class. Both had the same idea of taking the next class with the same teacher in the same time slot next semester.

“No, no. You’re stuck with me.” He replies with a wink. “I just…” Steve takes in a deep breath. Maybe it’ll be okay if he just tells _one_ person. “I’m having an interview on Thursday,” Oh wow, saying it outloud is completely surreal. “With a curator who’s looking for pieces to put in an exhibit at the MoMA.”

The look on her face alone suggests she understands just how huge this is for him. Sharon’s eyes grow twice their size. Her mouth falls open and then pulls up in a huge, excited smile.

“Steve! That’s so amazing!” She flings the arm holding her umbrella down and goes in for a hug. Pulls him in quick and tight. “You must be so excited!”

He chuckles and nods and likes the way it feels when she hugs him. Sharon smells really nice, too.

“I am,” He agrees. “Nervous, too,” To be expected and that’ll probably get worse and worse as the hours tick closer to the day of the interview. But right now, “Mostly excited though.”

“Oh that is so great,” She’s still smiling. Overjoyed for this piece of news for someone she’s only known for a handful of weeks. “You _need_ to tell me how it goes.” She insists. “I can’t wait until Monday to find out.”

They’ve exchanged numbers since meeting so that won’t be a problem. 

“Sure thing.”

“No, no!” Sharon waves her hand out in front of him like she might scold him about something. “Say the words, _I will tell Sharon what happened by Thursday evening the latest_.”

Steve groans through a laugh and repeats it back to her. Once she’s satisfied, since she makes him say it _two_ times before she is, Sharon smirks and nods.

“Good, cause if you don’t get it for some reason, I’ll take you out. Buy you a drink. Or two, or however many it takes for you to get shitfaced.” She offers. “And when you _do_ get it,” Yeah, yeah, Steve sees what she did there, “I’ll take you out for a drink. And you can still get shitfaced if you want.”

“Deal,” Steve laughs.

“I gotta run though,” Sharon puts the umbrella over her again. “I have to catch a bus. I’ll see you on Wednesday though.”

“Hey you…” Steve glances in the direction of the parking lot he’s headed for. “If you want… I could give you a ride. If you want.”

“Oh…” Sharon peers over her shoulder to where the bus stop is. “Thanks, but I’m actually headed into the city. I don’t want you to have to drive all the way to Manhattan and then back again. I’ll take you up on that another time though if the offer still stands.”

“Sure it will.” He assures her. “Kay, well, I’ll, uh, I’ll see you Wednesday.”

“Right. And congratulations, Steve. I’m really happy for you.”

“Thanks, Sharon.”

Steve waits and watches as Sharon makes her way over to the bus stop. He’s not really sure why. It’s not like he’s going to stand there until the bus comes so he can make sure she gets on safely. As luck would have it though, her bus does happen to pull up just as she reaches the stop. Like she knows he’s watching, she waves over her shoulder as she boards. 

Smiling, at a little bit of everything, Steve finally heads towards his car. He takes a glimpse up at the dreary clouds. Just a few more months of this and he can finally take his bike to campus. It’s a shame he was too nervous to do so in the beginning of the year as he tried to get used to everything. The campus really is beautiful. It’d have been nice to ride through it a bit, even if it is stop and go. 

When he gets into his car, Steve is sure to send a text to Sam before he leaves. He promised he’d let him know how things turned out with Dr. Xavier. While he’s not ready to give the full details, he doesn’t want Sam to worry.

**Hey, Sam, everything was fine. He just wanted to talk to me about some exhibit at the MoMA.**

Well, it’s not really a lie. 

***

The phone goes off just as Steve sits down with his dinner--chicken enchilada which smells really good. Steve groans and stares at it sitting on the counter. Which does no good, of course, since it just stares back at him and chimes again just like it will keep doing until he clears his text.

With a sigh, Steve drops his fork before he even gets a taste of the meal he worked so hard on--okay, so twenty minutes isn’t all that tough, but still--and pushes away from the table. He swipes the persistent phone from off the counter to check the message. Makes him roll his eyes. Smile too, but Steve rolls his eyes.

**Bucky: Yoooo grandpa narc!!!!**

Scoffing, Steve takes the phone with him back over to the table and first scoops some food into his mouth before attempting to respond. A little longer anyway since the food is a bit spicier than he anticipated. Once his mouth isn’t burning, thanks to a combination of quick mouthful inhales and a gulp of soda, Steve answers.

**Steve: what is it sweet boy?**

Let him sit on that for a few minutes. Steve can just picture his reaction. Cheeks turning red. Lip tucked under his teeth. Bucky squirming in his spot as he tries to pretend the title, his and his alone, doesn’t do anything to him.

**Bucky: Kamala and Billy wanna know if you’re coming tonight**

That text is quickly followed up with: **Sir** before Steve gets a chance to say anything.

The added _Sir_ is no doubt in response to the wording of Steve’s text. Tonight is their planned study group session, and, yes, Steve still planned on joining them. Not that he’s going to pass up a perfect opportunity to tease Bucky.

**Steve: Oh yeah? Just Kamala and Billy?**

Steve gets a few moments to eat some more of his meal. Now that he knows what to expect, it’s actually quite good, if he does say so himself. 

**Bucky: That’s right. No one else. Nah-ah. Nope. no one.**

**Steve: Boy you sure do know how to make a fella feel special.**

**Bucky: actually i’m pretty good at doing that ^.~**

That one makes Steve scoff. Bucky’s got him on that one. He has made him feel quite special during the past few months. More than just special. Even if it’s one sided. 

**Steve: yeah yeah you little brat**

Along with that, Steve sends a picture of the big bags of M&Ms he’s got just for tonight. Milk chocolate, peanut, and peanut butter.

**Steve: Of course, if they’re the only ones who want me there, i guess I’ll just share these with them.**

**Bucky: Awwww! You fight dirty!!!**

Steve laughs, but Bucky’s comment gets his mind rolling and he carefully plans his next text.

**Steve: you want me fighting dirty? How about Thursday night I strip you down, leave you blindfolded on your knees in my living room, maybe tie your wrists behind your back. Perhaps there’ll be some ice involved. You did say you wanted me to use a riding crop on you. You know, I have a small chest in my closet full of goodies you might… love to hate.**

All things he bought in California that Steve’s taken great care in learning how to use properly. There’s not a ton in it--simple things mostly. Bonadge tape and a basic bondage set for the bed. He _does_ have a few riding crops along with two leather straps. That feathered tickler in there might be wonderful to use on Bucky. Some of the things in there, like the cockring and beads, even a neon wand and vibrating plug--remote operated--Steve never thought he’d get a chance to even use on someone special. He’d purchased them on a whim while at a workshop. But those were all things Bucky’s said yes to. So maybe one day…

**Bucky: ...do you really have that, sir?**

Ah, so _that_ piques his interest, just like Steve figured. Letting him sweat it out a bit, Steve finishes his dinner and washes his plate before going to his closet. He fetches the chest in question and snaps a quick picture of it. Keeps it closed just to torture Bucky some more. For all the kid knows, it’s totally empty. Steve sends it with no caption or any explanation whatsoever. 

He gets a reply within moments of sending his message.

**Bucky: HOly fuck. Wtf is in that??!!??**

The smirk that twitches on Steve’s face feels taunting, and part of him would love to only respond with a photo of that. Instead, he waits a few minutes again before sending anything.

**Steve: if you’re good, maybe you’ll find out one day.**

**Bucky: omg. ur killin me, sir.**

**Steve: Then again, no one else really wants me there tonight. so maybe there’s really no point in even telling u about it huh?**

**Bucky: you’re so mean :p ok ok maybe someone else might wanna see u tonight too. dunno who tho.**

**Steve: Just gotta be a smartass don’t you? I’ll see you in a little while.**

Steve ends up leaving just about an hour later and gets to the library just as Billy and Teddy are headed inside. They all exchange pleasant greetings, and now that Bucky’s told him that Billy thinks Steve is good looking--okay, Bucky used the word hot--he notices the way Billy keeps glancing shyly at his feet everytime he says something. 

The room they’ve reserved is actually a really nice one. Not an actual closed off room, but a section by the wall-length windows dotted with big comfy chairs surrounding one big table with a few smaller ones spersed between seats. Jim, Kate, and Eli are already there. Kate throws her arm up in the air when she spots them coming.

“Hey, guys,” Eli greets and gestures to all the notes and textbooks spread out on the center table. “Welcome to our sweet torture.”

“Oh come on, Eli,” Kate sighs. “We’re gonna make it fun. That’s why we’re here.”

Jim pats him on the back as he flips through a whole stack of index cards. He fans them out in his face so that the slight breeze from them hits his skin.

“Yeah really,” He agrees with Kate. “You don’t think I made up all these cards just so we could sit here doing nothing, right?”

Billy and Teddy are both rummaging through their bags, Billy pulling out what looks like artwork when it’s actually diagrams and charts based on their class. Extremely impressive. 

“And look what we did,” Teddy says. “Can’t back out now.”

Billy scoffs. “What’d you mean, we?"

Laughing, Teddy bobs his head and stretches his lips in an offered apology. 

“Alright, _you_ made them. But I was there to support and encourage.” He states, adding a proud straightening of his back. “Just like a good boyfriend.”

“Mm,” Billy agrees and gives Teddy a quick kiss on the lips. “Of course.”

The two of them look really cute. Steve smiles as he goes through Billy’s work. Most of what he’s done is drawn out the basic bodily systems in great detail. Then drawn them again without things labeled. Although now he feels bad. Billy’s contribution is great. From what he sees of Jim’s, who’s prepared flashcards a’la game show style and Kate has a very extensive list of vocabulary printed for everyone, they’ve thought a lot into this. For all Steve knows, Kamala and Bucky’ll be bringing things as well. And all Steve has are bags of candy.

“Um, shit, I’m sorry,” He mumbles as he pulls out the M&Ms. “I didn’t know you guys were…”

“No, no!” Eli waves his hand out. “Not all of us did stuff. And please, no sweat, man, you were told last minute. We’ve been planning for almost a week.”

“Besides!” Teddy exclaims. “You brought the best of all! Stuff for our _souls_!”

Steve chuckles. “And you’re sure you don’t mind me being here? Really, you won’t offend me if…”

He cuts off when the small group of them laugh. Exchange quick glances with one another, look back at Steve and then chuckle some more. Looks like Steve is missing something.

“What?” He asks. “What is it?”

“Just…” Jim holds in another laugh. “Well, first of all, no. None of us care that you’re here. I’m twenty-five, dude. So you don’t have to feel like you’re babysitting or nothing.”

Oh. Steve had no idea Jim was so close to his age. It’s actually pretty reassuring.

“Ah, well that’s nice,” Steve jokes. “Don’t have to keep these youngins under control by myself.”

“Ha ha,” Kate rolls her eyes. “You guys are _hilarious_. And anyways, we had a feeling you’d ask us that.”

Wow, is he really that predictable? It makes sense for Sam to know his reactions so well, to be able to foresee how he’s going to handle a situation before Steve’s actually in it, but these kids? Who don’t even know him? 

“Yeah,” Billy giggles. Scratches the back of his head and nibbles his lip. “Um, Bucky said you’d probably ask us that.”

“Oh he did, did he?”

Now that makes a whole lot more sense. Bucky would know that about him. Bucky, who’s currently walking towards them with Kamala on his arm. Chatting and smiling away with her until he notices Steve staring at him. Stops dead in his tracks. And sentence.

“What?” He asks as though he’s been accused of a crime. All high-pitched and innocent like. “I just got here! What could I have possibly done?”

“Have you been talking about me, Bucky?” Steve questions. “Behind my back?”

“I… what?” Bucky scans the rest of the group and must pick up on what Steve’s talking about since he flashes a huge, cocky grin. “Did he ask it?”

“Yep. Just before you got here.” Eli answers. 

“You’re such a little brat,” Steve teases. 

“This is all of us, right?” Kamala asks. “We’re all here?”

They are, so Kamala moves in to sit down with the rest of them. As does Bucky. Only instead of taking the last available chair, which would put him across from Steve, he sits down on the floor at his feet. He doesn’t comment on it or even look at him when he does it. Just plops down there like it’s a normal, everyday occurrence. Steve’s heart pounds as their own little bubble forms around them. 

Jim points out that Bucky can sit next to him if he wants. Points to the empty chair. Even says the chair won’t bite. 

“Nah,” Bucky laughs. “I’m good here.”

“We all move down,” Teddy offers. “If you wanna…”

“No, really,” He assures them and stretches his legs out. “Was sittin’ all damn day. Feels good to stretch my legs like this.”

He pushes them to get started then. Eases them right into studying by asking Jim to start with the flashcards. No one really seems to bat an eye at his explanation for sitting on the floor, even if it’s a flat out lie as Steve knows it is. Though, truth be told, the only real reason he knows for sure that he’s not being honest, is the way Bucky happens to peer up at him a few minutes later. By the look in his eye, Steve wonders if perhaps he’s searching for approval. Making sure it’s okay that he’s taken this spot. 

Steve adjusts his position and leans forward. Brushes his thumb along the back of Bucky’s neck and makes him hum just enough for Steve to hear it. Another little piece of their own world just for them.

The first hour goes by smoothly. Everything everyone brought proves to be quite helpful. Billy’s diagrams and visual representations are great. Jim’s cards are actually a lot of fun since they do use them as though they’re playing a game. Kate’s worksheets are easy to do along with the rest of it. 

Bucky, well, Bucky’s an absolute wonder. He’s eager to help in anyway he can. There’re pneumonic devices and acronyms and just little tips for remembering vocab. Whenever someone struggles with something, it’s him who comes up with the solution to help. He’s quick to figure out what method someone learns best with. 

Knows that Billy, Kamala, and Steve work best with visual aids, so he maps out whatever it is they need help with. Jim and Kate must work best with auditory help, so he explains everything out loud and quizzes them that way. For Teddy and Eli, Bucky repeats things to help it sink in, points them out on paper and has them say it all back to him. 

Throughout their studying, Bucky’s phone happens to go off a few times. He makes a point of apologizing, but still answers it whenever it happens.

“Work,” He explains.

“What’d you do?” Kate asks, jotting down the answer to one of Eli’s questions.

Bucky shrugs and Steve figures he’ll just make something up. But he completely shocks him by saying, “Oh I’m a hooker.”

To which they all just scoff and chuckle at. The truth, it would seem, is so farfetched that no one would ever believe it. Steve can’t help but wonder if that actually makes Bucky feel bad, even if he laughs along. Because he’s not lying. He really is a sex-worker. But the idea of him being one, of him even _admitting_ to being one, is so absurd to everyone, that it’s laughable. That has to hurt, even if Bucky doesn’t want to admit it. Steve can’t bring himself to laugh along. Even for the sake of the act. 

There’s one text that comes that happens to draw a lot of attention. It’s Bucky’s reaction to it that does it. The kid lights up like Christmas morning as soon as he pulls the phone out of his pocket. Just the sight of the texter has him beaming. Shocked, from the looks of it, too. Like receiving a text from super-exciting-mystery-person is totally unexpected. 

“Aw! Look at you!” Kate teases. “That your special someone?”

Bucky’s face heats up with the deepest blush Steve’s ever seen. Every inch of his face turns red. Tips of his ears blossoming to his chest. 

“No, it… it’s not that…” Bucky presses the top of his phone into his lips and giggles. “Shut up!”

His face is still red as he texts back amid teases and laughs while trying to ignore it all and holds in his own smiles and chuckles. 

Steve can’t bring himself to laugh along. 

By the second hour, Steve understand why Bucky claimed to need him there. He’s ended up laying on the floor with his feet up on Steve’s chair. His notebook is strewn across his face and he’s starting to fidget. And fidgeting usually means one thing. Bucky’s getting bored. Which he doesn’t want. Bucky wants to be helpful. It’s not really his fault. He knows this stuff inside and out. Really, it’s kind of incredible to watch. Anytime there’s a question raised, Bucky immediately goes to answer. He holds back though. Waiting to see first if someone else can respond. That doesn’t stop him from getting tired of it. Of discussing things that come so naturally to him.

So when he starts talking about some television show-- _again_ \--instead of cell fusion, Steve knocks his feet off the chair. Bucky lifts his head to look at him. Appears a bit stunned at what just happened. Steve curls a finger at him and Bucky lifts himself up so that Steve can whisper in his ear.

“Behave, sweet boy. Or Thursday I’m going to get you all riled up and then put you in the corner all night long.”

That immediately gets Bucky back in the right headspace. He nods, mutters a quiet _yes, Steve_ and faces the desk again. For the next twenty minutes, Bucky goes back to studying. Until he goes to stand up in the middle of Jim quizzing everyone on the endocrine system. 

He stops though, halfway, and sort of glances over at Steve. Not sure why he stopped, or why he’s staring at him, Steve gives him a quizzical look. But Bucky simply bites his lip, swallows, and sits back down. 

A few minutes later, he starts to fidget again. He taps and sucks his pen, and squirms in place, and shakes his knee and sighs. Only this time, he continues to participate. At least makes the attempt to. Since he keeps stealing glimpses over at Steve. Each time he does so, Steve just feels more and more confused. He has no idea what’s going on or why Bucky keeps looking at him like that. He’s after something, that much Steve’s sure of. It’s just a matter of figuring out what.

“Bucky,” Kamala laughs a little while later, “I told you not to drink that whole twenty ounce soda before we got here.”

“Shut up.” He whines and wiggles more. “I was thirsty.”

“Yeah, but you chugged it down and now you gotta piss like a racehorse, don’t you?”

Oh. _Oh_. So _that’s_ what’s going on here. Bucky… wants… _oh_. 

For a second, just a heartbeat, everyone else in the room disappears. Because Bucky happens to peer over his shoulder again. Right at Steve. Now that they’re on the same page. Even though Steve isn’t his customer. Steve hasn’t paid. 

Sitting at Steve’s feet is one thing. Reining him in when he gets rambunctious is something that’s been going on all semester. But this? Add this to the list of things that have just thrown Steve’s life for a loop. 

“Nah, it’s not that bad,” Bucky plays it off like it’s nothing. “I’ll wait. Don’t wanna miss anything here.”

Steve’s not sure how “not that bad” it really is. For all moving about, it’s definitely more than a slight ache. But Bucky’s still waiting for permission to use the bathroom. When he looks at him again, seeking that very thing, Steve just ignores him. Over and over.

The library closes at ten thirty. In just over twenty minutes. They’re all packing up to leave before then.

“Hey, you guys can get going,” Steve offers when there’s only a few library textbooks left on the table. “I’ll put these back.”

By _I’ll_ , he hopes that means he _and_ Bucky, since Bucky hasn’t actually moved from his spot other than to help stack up their notes and papers.

“You sure?” Jim asks. “Don’t wanna leave it all to you.”

“Eh, that’s fine,” He waves a hand. Gestures for them to go on and already starts collecting the few books there. “What are grandpas for?”

At least he knows how to make a joke. Knows how to laugh at himself and can get everyone else to laugh along with him. After a quick farewell exchange, Steve takes the books to the return cart and when he gets back to get his things, the most important, his favorite, is still sitting on the floor. By himself. Rubbing his hands into his face and bouncing up and down. 

Steve can hear Bucky let out a tiny whine as he drops his head down on the desk. Quiet in his approach, Steve touches the back of Bucky’s neck. He jerks up. Stares up at Steve with huge puppy eyes and whimpers.

“Sir? Please?”

Holding his hand out, Steve helps him to his feet.

“You poor thing,” Steve murmurs. “Come on. Lets go find a bathroom.”

Bucky moans out in relief, leaning against Steve as they walk through the library. There’s a bathroom right by the exit and the second it’s in view, Bucky breaks for it. Only he can’t get far. Not when Steve takes hold of his wrist and stops him.

“ _Steve_!” He pleads. Still hopping up and down. “Oh god, please…”

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Steve reminds him. “You asked for it.”

He must have been feeling really out of sorts back there to have started this. It’s the only thing Steve can think of. Why else would he play games when Steve’s not paying? Of course, Bucky can always say red. But he doesn’t. Bucky obeys when Steve lets go and doesn’t dart into the bathroom like he so desperately needs to. He just whines more and buries his face in Steve’s shirt. 

Whispers, “ _Please_ , sir…”

“Mm.” Steve runs a hand over his head. Down his neck, back and backside. Leaves it right there and gives it a squeeze. Pulls a little yelp and an almost violent shiver from Bucky. “You’re such a good boy. Go on. Go.”

Bucky might mutter and mumble something in gratitude as he flees for the restroom, but it’s far too rushed and hurried for Steve to catch. Once the door closes behind him, Steve follows and stands outside. Chuckles when he hears that grateful, satisfied moan like the last time they did this. Steve waits until he hears the sink running before going in.

“Better?” 

Bucky gives him the stink eye through the mirror. Pursed lips and all. He huffs and shakes his head.

“You’re such an ass.” He mumbles. “Rippin’ me off over here.”

“Hey!” Steve snickers. “ _You_ started it.” He points a finger at him. “Don’t blame me if you bit off more than you could chew.”

Mimicking Steve and the last thing he said, making an exaggerated face as he does so, Bucky sticks his tongue out as he dries his hands. When he turns around to see the scolding look on Steve’s face, he drops the bratty act and mumbles an apology. Smiles down at his feet.

“Do you want a ride home, Buck?” Steve offers as they leave the bathroom.

“Nah, it’s cool. Duty calls.” Bucky’s already on his phone. Texting again. Which puts lead in Steve’s stomach. Reminds him of what happened earlier. “I got a customer to get to.”

Well if that just adds more weight to Steve’s belly. Turns lead to ash and something rotten. 

“Oh.” Steve hopes to keep the dejected tone to a minimum. “Okay. Um…” They’re standing outside. On the front steps and need to part ways to get to their targeted destinations. Steve feels the bus stop mocking him from across the street. Both Eli and Kamala are over there so at least Bucky won’t be alone. “So, who did you talk to before?”

Fuck. Fucking hell, that’s not really what he even wants to ask. Finding out who made Bucky so giddy won’t make him feel any better about anything. What Steve really wants to ask is if Bucky feels what he feels. That maybe this has become about a lot more than just Steve being his customer. That maybe… shit, Steve doesn’t even know. Feels like he doesn’t know anything anymore.

“What?” Bucky asks as he lights a cigarette. Considerate to blow the smoke away from Steve.

“Someone texted you before,” Steve continues anyway. On the path of the righteous masochist. “You got all excited.”

“Uh.” Bucky blushes again. Cheeks tickled with pink. “That was… nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh. Alright.” Steve can’t really tell if Bucky doesn’t want him to know or if he’s trying to avoid hurting his feelings. Honestly, Steve’s not sure what’s worse. Having something Bucky really feels the need to hide from him or something he has hidden deep within his life that might hurt Steve. “Well… be safe, Bucky. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky smiles. Tender and warm. A comforting fire on a cold winter’s night. “Sure thing, narc.” One hand stuffed in his pocket the other holding his cigarette, he struts down the steps. “See ya’ round, Steve.”

Steve doesn’t respond right away as he watches Bucky leave. This is the very first time he’s ever left Steve’s sight with Steve actually knowing for a fact that he wasn’t going straight home. He’s going to be with a customer. That fear for Bucky’s safety, that awful paranoia, he feels it tenfold. 

“Bucky!” 

He stops short. Almost trips over the step he was about to take. Bucky looks over his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Would you…” Steve feels like a real heel asking this, but if he’s going to get any rest tonight at all, feel any bit of ease, he needs to. “Would you mind texting me when you get home?”

At first, Bucky just stares at him as though baffled by the request. Then, he rolls his eyes and scoffs. He ends up turning back around and continuing on his way, answering only with a wave over his shoulder. Steve has no idea what that means. 

Not until a quarter past one in the morning when Steve’s phone goes off and the world breathes right again. 

**Bucky: U can relax now, grandpa narc. I’m home. go to bed**

Steve smiles at the text and rolls over in his bed. He really did try to get to sleep only to find himself tossing and turning for an hour.

**Steve: Excuse me for caring jerk**

**Bucky: Yeah well ur kinda fucking sweet and shit**

**Bucky: Hey steve?**

**Steve: Yes Bucky?**

**Bucky: Thanks for caring**

***

“You little shit!”

Steve laughs into the phone. He should have seen this coming. Did see this coming. Can’t really bring himself to care. He’s far too excited.

“I’m sorry!” He exclaims. “I didn’t want to jinx it by telling anyone!”

He’s in the bathroom down the hall from Dr. Xavier’s office. Steve attempts to get his tie off with just one hand while keeping the phone next to his ear, but sorta gets it shoved in his mouth trying it that way. His portfolio is balanced carefully on the edge of the sink.

“So you mean to tell me, that when you had a meeting with the dean at the beginning of the week, it was to set up this interview?”

Steve bites down on his smile. A playfully guilty look spreading across the rest of his face even though Sam’s not there to actually see it. It’ll come out in his voice, he’s sure. 

“Well…” He stretches his lips. “Yeah!”

“You little shit!” Sam says again.

He’s laughing though, so Steve knows he’s not completely in trouble with this. 

“But you’re missing the most important part!” Steve points out. “I got it, Sam!” He fucking giggles like a school boy. A little kid opening presents. A baby playing peek-a-boo. Steve can’t stop giggling. “I fucking got it!”

“You are so lucky I love you, man,” Sam laughs. “Congratulations! We’re celebrating this weekend! Taking you out for drinks!”

Steve laughs again. “We can’t. We have Tony and Pepper’s anniversary party.”

“Ah shit, you’re right. Well, whatever!” Sam scoffs. “It’s an open bar! We’ll have a toast for you, too! Come on, this is huge! Steve! You’re gonna be in a museum!”

“Sam… I can’t believe this.” Steve really, _really_ can’t believe it. He hasn’t felt so on top of the world in years. Like he really might be able to do anything. “I’m so _excited_!”

“You should be!” He exclaims. “You’ve earned it!”

“I just…” Steve is still smiling, he is. Can’t help it. But there is something missing. “I wish… I just wish…”

“I know, man,” Sam interrupts. “She should be here for this. But… your mama is. She’s with you. You know that.”

Unfortunately, Steve doesn’t know that. He used to think it. Faith was something Steve didn’t have to reach for. He was just full of it. Believed in God and Heaven and angels. Used to think that’s what happened when someone died. They went to live with Jesus in the clouds so they could take care of their loved ones still living on earth. 

But what kind of God would take his mama from him? Make her suffer on her way out? 

Steve tries not to think about it too often. Tries to think the way Mama did. Everything happens for a reason. God has a plan. Clichés and hackneyed phrases. 

“Yeah, yeah, she is.” Whether she is or isn’t, she’d be damned thrilled right about now. “Thank you, Sam.”

“For what, Steve?”

“For… convincing me to come back. If it wasn’t for you…”

“Nah-uh. Don’t start that. You did this on your own. I just put the idea in your head. _You_ moved back. _You_ got into school. _You_ get up to go everyday. _You_ got the interview. _You_ got picked. This is _your_ victory, Steve. God, I’m so happy for you.”

Steve smothers his face and tries not to giggle again. Though he feels strange taking all the credit--he still maintains that if it wasn’t for Sam, none of this would be happening--Sam is making him feel all sorts of wonderful. Warm and fuzzy and more accomplished in just a few months than in ten years. 

“You’re awesome, Sam. Have I told you that?”

“Eh, you can stand to say it more frequently.”

“Oh okay,” Steve chuckles. “You’re awesome.”

“Very nice. Hey, listen, I can get outta here if you wanna grab lunch and a drink,” Sam suggests. “My treat. Can you leave? Get out early and celebrate a bit?”

“Oh, uh…”

“C’mon! Live a little! See if you can get out and call me back!”

“Alright,” He agrees. Still smiling. Big and ready to laugh again. “I’ll talk to you in a minute. And… you’re awesome, Sam.”

“Aw, you’re too much, Steve! And congrats again!”

The call ends before Steve can give him thanks again. This whole thing is still so hard to believe. The interview went so well. Even though Steve had been so nervous beforehand, Scott had been so kind and welcoming, it had been easy to talk to him. He had nothing but nice things to say about Steve’s work and any criticism was constructive and delivered gently. By the end of the interview, Scott made him feel like _he_ was honored that Steve showing him his work. When Steve was offered the commission--handsome indeed--he was ready to burst out in tears of joy. 

In fact, Steve _still_ might shed some of those tears. He’s just so overwhelmed. Maybe he _should_ head out early today. No one would mind, he’s sure. 

As he thought, when he says something to Professor McCoy, he’s given happy congratulations and complete understandings. 

“Go on!” He says. “Get out of here! Celebrate!”

Steve is sure to give his appreciation before calling Sam back and making plans to meet him at their favorite spot. Before Steve leaves to meet him, he texts Sharon.

**Steve: Sharon! I got it! I got the MoMA job!**

He’s sitting at a table in his favorite bar with Sam--and Maria and Tony and Bruce and Carol, because, just like Sam promised, he’s already told everyone he could get ahold of, and anyone who could, has shown up--table filled with drinks and platters of food, when Sharon gets back to him.

**Sharon: Steve! That’s incredible! I’m so happy for you!! I’m taking you out for drinks asap! We’re celebrating!**

**Steve: Yes ma’am! And thank you!**

Taking a glimpse at everyone here with him, at the text from Sharon, Steve feels almost as whole as he can get. Other than a few friends missing, a few who couldn’t ditch their grown up responsibilities at the last second, everyone Steve loves and cares about is here with him to celebrate his special moment. 

Well, _almost_. There’s one person missing, even in spirit. One who doesn’t even know yet. Funnily enough, who no one present is even aware exists, yet might be the most important person to Steve at the moment.

Guilt trickles through him. How is he suppose to feel about this? Surrounded by his friends, celebrating his victory. It’s not like he can tell them about Bucky. The twenty-year-old he’s paying to have sex with. What would they think? Would they get it at all? Or would they think there was something wrong with Steve? Think down upon Bucky? 

Hell, maybe it’s a moot point anyway. There’s no telling if Bucky would even want to come out with him. Or at least, not without being paid first. Then he’d slip into whatever character Steve wanted him to be. 

It doesn’t matter. Steve’ll focus on today. And today is Thursday. Their night. Steve will celebrate with Bucky in their own way.

***

The knock on the door sends a jolt of anticipation through Steve’s entire body. He’s never been so excited to have Bucky over. He can only hope Bucky doesn’t mind the smell. The whole place smells like the ocean since Steve decided to try his hand at cooking grilled fish steaks tonight. That smile Steve’s had on his face all afternoon still hasn’t left. It only gets wider when he approaches the door.

When he catches a glimpse of Bucky though, his smile falters for the first time all day. Unlike he usually is, Bucky’s not posed in his normal position. Purchased against the doorframe or gaze sweeping up toward Steve in that all-knowing way. Reading Steve’s soul and innermost secrets with just a bat of his eyes. 

No, tonight his eyes are closed, popping open when Steve gets the door open. Bucky rattles his head, as though maybe he was falling asleep standing on his own two feet and sucks in a deep breath, pulling a grin up on his mouth as he does.  
,  
“Hi!” He says brightly. Trying to break through the fog that’s so clearly stuck around him. “How’s it goin’, grandpa?”

“Hey, Buck,” Steve greets. Takes in the dark circles under Bucky’s eyes and the shags of hair coming out from under his hat. Like maybe he got ready in a hurry. “You okay?”

“Mhm.” He’s smiling and stretching his neck out. He then barks a laugh and asks, “Ya’ gonna make me stand out here all night?”

Steve rolls his eyes and takes hold of Bucky’s wrist to ease him forward. He brings him into his place and helps him out of his coat. Bucky’s not sporting his normal, stylish attire. His form fitting, v-necks and skinny jeans are missing tonight. Instead, he’s got on a baggier t-shirt, still hugging around his torso, but not the way it usually does, with a faded print on it that looks like it might have been a concert shirt, and jeans that look older. Ones that scream favorite pair; the kind that are probably the most comfortable, that he wears to just lounge around in. 

While Steve hangs his coat up, he peeks over his shoulder when he hears what he thinks is a yawn. Sure enough, Bucky’s mouth is wide open and his fingers are rubbing his eyes in an attempt to pry the sleep from them. 

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay, Bucky?”

Bucky looks over at him as though he’s been caught doing something wrong. He rattles his head and then nods.

“Oh yeah,” He says. “Sure thing. I’m good. Just a little tired. Haven’t slept much in past few days.”

“Do you still wanna do this?” Steve asks. The thought of cancelling sucks, it really does, especially since Steve has something special planned for tonight and given the excitement of today he’d like it to continue. But there’s no way he’d want Bucky going on doing something he’s not in the mood to do. Not if he’s not up to it either. “It’s okay if you don’t.”

But Bucky shakes his head and comes over to him. Places hands at his hips and brings him closer. 

“Mm-mm,” He hums. Gets up real close to Steve and brushes his lips along Steve’s neck. “I’m here, aren’t I? Just a measly three bills away from being _yours_ , sir.” Bucky holds up one hand. “Unless you want me to leave?”

“Mm,” Steve holds in a soft moan when Bucky grinds into him. “No.” He reaches into his pocket for his wallet. Pulls out his credit card and holds it up between two fingers. “Stay.”

“Well look at you!” Bucky exclaims. Big, teasing smirk on his face. “Look who’s joining the twenty-first century!”

He snatches the card from Steve’s hand and goes on making some more smartass remarks regarding Steve using his credit card to pay as he does whatever he needs to on his phone to take the payment. Snickering at his own line of jokes the whole time. That is, until he hands Steve’s card back and Steve flicks his eyebrows up.

“Payment made?” Steve checks.

“Um…” Bucky looks playfully nervous. Clearly toys around with the idea of lying.

“Don’t lie to me, baby boy.” Bucky’s face heats up. Caught between embarrassment and arousal. “I don’t like it when you lie. You know that.” 

“Yes, sir.” He murmurs.

“Yes what?”

“What?” Bucky asks. Not understanding Steve’s question at first. Until it clicks just a breath later. “Oh. Yes to both.”

“So no lying…” Steve’s answered with a nod, “And payment’s gone through?”

“Right.”

“Good.”

Steve snatches Bucky’s ear and twists. Brings him down a bit with a surprised yelp, mixed in with a laugh and several _ow ow ows!_

“You gonna stop being a brat now?” He wonders. “Hm?”

“Yes, yes!” Bucky squeals. “M’sorry, sir! M’sorry!” 

Before letting go, Steve forces Bucky’s head to turn towards him and he kisses him. He’s loosens his grip, but doesn’t release him just yet.

“Hi,” He says. “You sure you’re feeling okay?”

Bucky rolls his eyes and instead of answer that he takes a long, hard breath through his nose.

“Lemme guess. Burgers tonight?”

Giving his ear one last tug for that, Steve lets go and scoffs. As Bucky straightens back up, he lets his head fall to Steve’s chest. For a second, Steve assumes he’s just going to bump his torso and move again. Instead, Bucky… well, he seems to try to do that. Makes the attempt to stand up straight again only to take in a deep breath and leave his head right where it is. Snuggled up on that spot and failing to hold back another yawn despite his greatest efforts.

Unable to resist the chance to cuddle with him, Steve cradles the back of Bucky’s head and rocks from side to side. He can feel the edge of Bucky’s mouth pull up in a grin. Everything would be fine if Steve didn’t feel Bucky suddenly start to sink out from under him.

“Whoa, whoa!” He catches him before his knees buckle. “Bucky!”

“I’m okay!” Bucky insists. “I swear! I just…”

“Stop it. Keep your mouth shut, sweet boy.”

Bucky does just that. He snaps his mouth closed and just stares at him. Eyes wide and waiting. Maybe to be scolded or sent home or for whatever Steve has in store for him. Which Steve isn’t sure of. He takes a moment to really get a good look at Bucky. 

Kid looks totally beat. Face pale--not sick pale, really, just worn out pale--and those bags under his eyes are a lot more pronounced now that he actually started to fall asleep. He’s trying to open his eyes wider than the normal.

“What’s going on, Bucky?”

He twists his lips with a sigh. Lowers his eyes and scratches at his forehead.

“Just haven’t been sleeping,” He shrugs. “S’all.”

“Is everything okay?”

Bucky opens his mouth like he’s about to answer and instead sort of shrugs one shoulder. About to let him know that he doesn’t need to tell him anything he doesn’t want to, Steve opens his mouth, only to close it again when Bucky speaks.

“I’ve… kinda been fighting with Nat.”

Oddly enough, Bucky fighting with Natasha makes a whole lot of sense to Steve for him to not be getting any sleep. The two of them are close enough, that any little tiff will probably be enough to wriggle his insides with anxiety. For Bucky to come out and say they’re fighting probably means a great deal more than that. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

He shakes his head. “No. Not really.”

“Okay.” Steve gives him another once over. Despite how tired he appears, Bucky looks kind of adorable. So much so that Steve just wants to bundle him up and let him sleep in his arms. Steve takes a look at the kitchen. Knows that Bucky follows his gaze. When Steve glances back at him, Bucky gives him a crooked grin. “Take your clothes off.”

“What?” Bucky rattles his head. “We’re not eating first?”

“Hey, am I paying you to listen to me or to ask questions?”

Not wanting to seem too harsh--given how tired Bucky is it could be easily misconstrued--Steve adds a tiny smirk to the end of that. Bucky folds his lips in and nods. Before letting him respond, Steve touches the side of his face the way he likes. Soft and gentle, brushing his thumb at the corner of his mouth.

Bucky’s eyes flutter closed and he hums contently.

“Sorry, sir.” He murmurs and melts into the touch. 

“Mhm,” Steve presses his lips to Bucky’s brow. “Good boy. Now do as you’re told then wait for me on your knees. Eyes closed.”

Hand slipping away from Bucky, Steve steps away from him and his eyes open. He looks a little dazed. In addition now to being tired, there’s something of a glazed look in his eyes. A tiny smile on his lips.

“Okay.” Bucky whispers as he starts to shrug out of his shirt. 

Steve heads to the hall closet to grab a few things. Gives Bucky a bit of time to finish undressing before returning to the living room. 

Like the good boy he is, Bucky’s on his knees when he gets there. Completely naked. Eyes closed. His arousal obvious in his semi-hard cock. 

As Steve walks by to get to the couch, he runs a hand over the top of Bucky’s head. It looks like he might go to open his eyes, but must think better of it and keeps them shut. 

“Good boy,” Steve compliments as he drops the things down on the cushions. Sets it up the way he wants it. “Alright. You can open your eyes.”

He does and needs a second or two in order to focus correctly. And when he does, when he sees what Steve’s done, it seems as though he’s not sure how to react. Whether he wants to laugh or cry or roll his eyes at the sight of the pillow and blanket Steve’s laid out for him.

“Come on,” Steve pats the couch. “Lay down. Try to get a little sleep.”

“Steve…” Bucky breathes. “Are you…”

Steve cuts him off by clearing his throat. He licks his teeth and first points to Bucky and then to the couch. Bucky smiles softly and does as he’s told. Climbs up on the couch and lets Steve tuck the blanket around him.

“You want me to put the television on? Or will that keep you up?”

“Mm…” He yawns and fluffs the pillow under his head, “Can you put _Lady and the Tramp_ on?

His request make Steve chuckle. Bucky’s gone over Steve’s dvds before, so he knows his collection fairly well. He’s well aware that Steve owns several Disney movies. 

“Sure thing.” 

Steve does just that. Pops the dvd in and is about to go to his bedroom to give Bucky some privacy when he’s stopped.

“Can you stay with me, sir?”

“You want me to?”

The blanket is pulled up to his chin and Bucky peers up at him as though he might be rethinking that. Still, he nods and pulls his legs up so that there’s room on the other end of the couch for Steve.

“Please?”

Obliging, Steve sits down and settles to watch the movie next to him. For the first few minutes, Bucky tosses about like he can’t get comfortable. Lady is still a little puppy when he suddenly sits up with a huff. Bucky looks irritated, but before Steve can ask him what’s wrong, he snatches the pillow up. Steve assumes he’s gonna flip it over. Instead, he shocks him by tossing it onto Steve’s lap and flinging himself down.

Steve freezes, as this is the last thing he’s expected. He never even thought Bucky would want him to stay for him to sleep let alone want to sleep on him like this. 

A second or so later, Steve realizes that Bucky’s peeking up at him through wisps of his hair. Waiting to make sure this is okay before really getting comfortable. Steve pets a hand over his head. Runs fingers down his neck and Bucky curls up that way. 

He’s drooling into the pillow less than two minutes later. 

***

Steve lets the whole movie play. Goes through some of the special features, too, just to give Bucky a little more time to sleep. He slips out from under him without waking him and goes into the kitchen to reheat their food. That only takes a few minutes, so he gets two plates down and then… thinks of something he’d like to try.

So he puts the second plate back and only makes up one instead. Steve brings his full plate and a glass of water out into the living room, but before trying to wake Bucky, he first heads to his bedroom closet to get that chest he told Bucky about earlier in the week. Bringing that back with him, Steve places it between the coffee table and the couch and just leaves it there.

Crouched down, Steve swipes a few stray hairs away from Bucky’s face before gently shaking him by the shoulder. 

“Hey, sleepy boy,” He murmurs into his ear. “Come on, sweetheart. Wake up.”

Bucky groans softly and tries to roll over. He mumbles something to Clint, and maybe then to Natasha and smacks his lips together. 

Steve chuckles and kisses his shoulder. Tries waking him again only to get something of the same response. Rather than keep this up, Steve slides his hand under the blanket and makes his way down to Bucky’s dick. He gently takes hold of it and starts slowly moving up and down. It only takes a few strokes before Steve actually _feels_ it getting hard in his hand. 

After a few minutes, Bucky starts to moan a little and tilts his hips up. Steve rests his head on the pillow next to Bucky’s and feathers kisses along his neck.

“Baby boy,” Steve coos between pecks, “Wake up.”

Bucky begins to stir then, releasing a puff of air with a more distinguished moan. His eyes start to open and Bucky turns his head, gaze first seeking the back of the couch and then Steve’s face. He looks a little confused at first, as though he’s not quite sure why he’s awake, but also feeling the pleasure between his legs. 

“St--Steve…” 

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Steve whispers. “You have to get up now. I cooked you dinner.”

Bucky pants a bit when Steve increases the pressure around his dick. He bites down on his lip.

“F-feels good, sir.” 

“Yeah?” He gets a nod and Steve kisses his cheek. “Don’t you want to eat the food I made for you, sweet boy?”

“I…”

“Cause I made it just for you, you know. And it’d hurt my feelings if you don’t want it. You don’t want to hurt my feelings, do you, baby?”

That one throws him a bit. While he’s clearly enjoying his little wake up call, Bucky’s not digging the idea of being told he’ll be hurting Steve’s feelings. Even if it is just a ploy. His face falls and he shakes his head.

“No?” Steve questions. “You don’t want to hurt my feelings?”

“Mm-mm.” He whimpers. “No, sir.”

“Okay then.” Steve stills his hand and gently removes it. Puts it under Bucky’s shoulder and lifts. “Come on, sweet boy, up and at’em.”

“Okay, okay,” Bucky gives in and sits up. “I’m up, I’m up.” He rubs his face. Then just his eyes and even under his nose before stretching his arms up over his head. He happens to take notice of the food sitting on the table and glances back at Steve. “There’s… only one plate.”

Steve nods and sits up on the couch. “That’s right.”

“Then… did you eat already?”

“No. We’re doing something a little different tonight.” He reaches across for the plate and nudges Bucky’s side. Steve points to the floor. “You can kneel right there.”

Bucky takes a glimpse at the spot, back to Steve and then the spot again. Cheeks turning red, he must pick up on what might be happening as he slides down to his knees right at Steve’s feet. Very neatly, too. Without Steve telling him to, because Steve doesn’t care about it, Bucky keeps his hands folded in his lap and his ankles pressed together. 

Slicing into the fish, Steve eats a bit of it first before putting some in the palm of his hand and feeding it to Bucky that way. Bucky takes it gingerly and, as he does, Steve rests his free hand on the back of his neck, leaving it there even as he goes back to eating. 

They eat the whole meal that way. Steve’ll take forkfuls for himself then feed Bucky from his hand. Every now and then he’ll take a drink and let Bucky have some as well. The same way, too. Holding the cup to his lips and letting him take small sips from it. Steve leaves that one hand at the base of Bucky’s neck the whole time. A reminder of safety. An anchor of sorts. Since the further into the dinner they get, the more and more dazed Bucky looks. Steve doesn’t try to talk to him. Just lets him sink into his own head. Wherever it takes him. And by the look on his face, spacey and, at least, peaceful, it’s some place nice. 

When they’re finished, Steve doesn’t bother washing any dishes. He just puts them in the sink and gets back to Bucky. After letting Bucky have his nap and dinner, he only has a little over ninety minutes left with him. And when he gets back to the living room, Bucky’s finally noticed what he’s been kneeling next to all this time. He’s staring at it. Eyes wide and mouth slacked. Steve clears his throat to announce his presence. Bucky glances up from the chest he’s next to.

“Steve? Sir, this is…” He gulps and looks back down at it. “Is this…?”

“Yes.” Steve comes back over and sits down across from Bucky. He pulls the chest a little closer to him and runs a finger along the top. “You wanna know what’s in it?”

Bucky nods. Quick, and gaze transfixed on the chest. He licks his lips as though getting ready to devour the most delicious meal ever placed in front of him. Just to torment him, Steve keeps it turned towards him and lifts the lid _very_ slowly. Bucky cranes his neck a bit, trying to catch a peek of what’s in there without Steve noticing. Steve snaps it closed again. Waves a finger at him.

“Ah-ah.” He scolds. “None of that or you don’t get any of it today.”

Bucky whines and bounces a bit in his place, but otherwise nods in agreement. 

“Yes, sir. I’ll be good.”

Steve takes his word for it and reopens the chest. He pretends to rummage through it a bit, even though he already knows the few items he wants to use. 

First thing he pulls out is his rope. Black and cotton and tightly braided. Ninety-six feet of it; some of it cut in sections for simple knots, most of it kept long for Shibari ties Steve’s worked so hard to learn. He puts it on the couch and Bucky’s eyes follow along. 

Though he doesn’t plan on using them, Steve takes out one of the chains of anal beads that’s in there. He passes them from hand to hand, even runs one over them, and only looks up at Bucky--making his face hot and sultry--when he hears him whimper. Still running his hand over them, Steve brings the beads close to his mouth like he means to wrap his lips around them. 

“You want these?” Steve asks. “Inside you?”

Like he can’t find his voice, only a tiny squeak comes out when Bucky tries to answer. He nods again. 

Much to Bucky’s disappointment, Steve shakes his head and tosses them back in. 

“No. Not tonight.” He ignores Bucky’s whine and grabs the next item he wants. “This, however,” Steve holds up the cockring, “Will be put to use tonight.”

Bucky’s hips jerk forward at the sight of it. He’s already hard. Dick kissing his belly. Which still has a few fading marks left over on him. Fuck, does Steve hate them. Something inside of him growls at the sight of them. Steve ignores it for now. He’ll let it come out in just a minute. 

“Let’s see,” Steve hums as he eyes the contents of the chest and then Bucky again. “One more thing…” He reaches in and takes out the last item he plans to use on Bucky tonight, but doesn’t show him. Not until closing the chest and placing the riding crop on top of it. “Hm?”

“Oh god…” Bucky whispers.

A shiver runs through his whole body and his head dips forward. His lips quiver as he tries for words and seems to fall short. 

“Color, Bucky.”

“зеленый,” He murmurs. English failing him already. “пожалуйста. Пожалуйста, ебёте мне, сэр!? пожалуйста?”

Using the end of the crop, Steve places it under Bucky’s chin. Gets his attention.

“Focus, baby. I need you to speak English, okay?”

Bucky’s trembling already. But he squeezes his eyes and licks his lips. Steve leaves the crop right where it is.

“G-green, sir. I… said…” He breathes out softly. “I said: Please. Can I have that, sir? Please?”

“You want this then? All of it?”

“Yes.” He whisper. “Please, sir. Oh please gimme. Gimme, gimme.”

Steve gives him two light taps under the chin. “On your feet, good boy. There’s something I need to take care of.”

Rocking forward, Bucky nods and rises. Steve runs the flat end of the crop over Bucky’s stomach, making it clench under the cool leather. Right across the marks still there. Mocking and taunting him. Reminding him how much Bucky will never be his. Not truly. 

“Look at this.” Steve says. Bucky does, even though Steve didn’t really mean for him to. “Letting someone else mark up what belongs to _me_.” He clicks his tongue. “You think that’s okay?”

Bucky whimpers and shakes his head. Sniffles a little like he might cry. Steve glances up at him just to make sure he’s not pushed too far. As much as he hates to see any mark on Bucky’s body that he hasn’t put there himself, he’d hate himself even more if he ever did anything that crossed a line. But the tears swimming in Bucky’s eyes are mixed with arousal and excitement. 

Steve pushes the chest under the coffee table and gets up on his knees. He holds the crop up to Bucky’s mouth, tells him to open and sticks it in when he does.

“Now that’s mine, baby,” He explains softly. Almost like Bucky’s a child. “I’m trusting you to take care of it for me. Don’t let it drop, sweet boy. Understand?”

Since his mouth is wrapped around the stick of the crop, Bucky must hope just a nod will be acceptable. But this is one of Steve’s favorite games. It’s one of Bucky’s too and Steve knows it. They’ve played it before, even though it’s usually done with Bucky’s mouth stuffed with Steve’s dick. Steve taps his own ear.

“I can’t hear you, Bucky.”

He whimpers, but carefully says, “Yes, sir,” though the crop. 

“That’s my good boy.”

He takes hold of Bucky’s hips and runs his teeth over the spots on his skin still glaring out at him. Bucky cries out, keeping the crop in place, and falls forward. His hands land on Steve’s shoulders as Steve continues to drag his teeth and mouth over him. Pulling muffled whines and whimpers from Bucky the whole time. 

Every time Steve thinks he’s satisfied, because really, it only takes a few bites and suckles to put his own marks over the old ones, he finds some reason to keep at it. Not dark enough, not deep enough, not enough to send Bucky off to the world claimed as his. _His, his, his._

Bucky’s knees are shaking and Steve is practically growling as he keeps at it, sucking hickies now into his inner thighs, raking fingernails into the soft skin there. Kissing abused flesh and earning contented sighs every time. 

He must shock the hell out of the kid when he licks the tip of his dick. Drooling. Precome leaking out like crazy. Bucky leaps up and yelps. Almosts drops the crop, but manages to hang onto it. Steve chuckles and keeps him steady.

“I’m sorry, sweet boy, did you not want me to do that?”

“No, no!” Bucky clenches his mouth tighter around the crop. “I…”

“Oh, so you _don’t_ want me to use my mouth on you?”

Bucky jerks his knee about as he frantically tries to word this correctly while also keeping the damn crop tucked in between his teeth. Keep Steve from twisting his words and playing the fucking mind games he loves so much. The same mind games Bucky enjoys struggling with. Those words tweaked in just the right way to change their meaning, making him second guess and backtrack and never _quite_ sure if his answer will be the right one until he gets that nod or smile of approval. So much sweeter when it is. 

“I _do_!” Bucky whines. “ _Please_ , sir!”

“Mm, I love when you beg so nicely,” Steve presses a few kisses along the side of Bucky’s cock. Draws a sweet moan from him. “But first,” He grabs the cockring from the couch and the bottle of lube he has in the chest. This one is berry flavored, just a hint of blueberries, “Let’s get you all set up.”

Squeezing a bit of lube onto his hand, Steve works it slowly around the base of Bucky’s cock. Bucky sighs contently, mouth twitching in a slight quirk. He’s just being allowed to enjoy the pleasure of it when Steve slips the cockring over the head of his dick and down to the base. Frustration flashes across Bucky’s face as he realizes what’s happened. The pleasured ripped away and the pressure mounting immediately. He’s already painfully hard to begin with. The addition of the cockring makes his dick swell up even more. 

“Fuck…” He mutters. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Steve chuckles and pinches his waist; hard enough to get Bucky to yip and once again fumble a bit in order not to drop the crop. Getting to his feet, Steve wraps a hand around the grip of it.

“I’ll take that now.” He murmurs and Bucky lets go. “I’m gonna put you in my ropes, Bucky. Have you ever been tied with ropes?” Bucky shakes his head. “Okay.” Setting the crop aside, Steve takes the bundle he needs for what he plans on doing. He runs it down Bucky’s arm and kisses his neck. “This is cotton, so it shouldn’t burn or cut into you. You said you trust me--”

“I do--”

Steve puts a finger over Bucky’s mouth to hush him. “But right now, _I_ need to trust _you_. You need to tell me if something isn’t right. I _need_ to trust that you will. Can I trust you, baby?”

“Yes, Steve.” Bucky replies from behind Steve’s finger. Eyes as serious as he can make them considering all the sensations that have been pumping through his body. “You can. I promise.”

“Tell me how,” Steve requests. Running that finger gently along his jawline. “How do you get me to stop?”

“R-red,” He recites and can’t quite get the rest out when Steve’s finger goes to trace his bottom lip since Bucky tries to suck it into his mouth. Steve pinches him for that. Bucky yips and goes on. “Yellow to sl-low down. Green good.”

“That’s my good boy.” Steve’s already unraveling the rope, has it hanging over his neck as he walks behind Bucky and takes him by both wrists. “I’m just working with your arms.” He tells him as he brings them behind Bucky’s back, “Tell me when you feel pressure. I don’t want it to hurt.”

Bucky whines a little. “But what if I want it to hurt?”

Steve pauses to think about that. He shakes his head with a little grin and pulls a little more.

“You might be in this position for a while,” He reminds him. “Tell me when you feel pressure. I’ll decide for you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Doing as he’s instructed, Bucky tells him when he starts to feel the strain on his arms and, giving him what he wants, Steve pulls just a tad more than that before getting to work. Tying a knot here and a knot there, tossing the rope over Bucky one way and looping it another. Bucky stays obediently still for him, watching intently the entire time. This little, awed expression on his face. Steve’s not sure why. It’s almost like Bucky’s expecting something miraculous to happen. Or that Steve’s doing something worthy of praise when all he’s doing is meticulously tying Bucky up in intricate knotwork. Which takes skill and practice, Steve’ll admit that, but it’s not really _that_ big’a deal. There’re a lot of people out there with better skill at this than Steve, that’s for sure. 

When he’s done though, Steve needs to take a step back to see the whole picture. Steve’s worked the ropes up and down Bucky’s torso, looped up and down both his arms and has it all connected by several knots down the center lined up with his spine. Sure enough, the completed work is breathtaking. It has nothing to do with him though. That’s all Bucky. Bucky makes his ropes beautiful. Bucky makes everything beautiful. A breath of fresh air. Sun on a cloudy day. The first snowflake of winter. 

“Fuck, Bucky,” He exhales. “You look amazing like that. Look at you. Wearing my ropes. All over you. You’re a work of art.”

“C-can I…” Bucky’s voice cracks. Sounds like he has the urge to cry. “Can I see, sir?”

“Can you get on your knees for me? Or do you--”

No effort whatsoever. Graceful and fluid, Bucky drops to his knees with a quiet thud and grins up at him all arrogant and proud. 

Steve chuckles and snaps a picture with his phone to show to him. Show him just how beautiful he looks. Bucky stares at it for a moment as though he’s not quite sure what he’s looking at. Until he peers back up at Steve.

“You… you made me look beautiful.” He whispers. 

“Mm-mm,” Steve takes Bucky’s chin in his hand. “I didn’t do that. _You_ did that, pretty boy.” He runs fingers through Bucky’s hair. “Do you wanna know what happened today?” 

Bucky nods and Steve tells him all about what happened as Dr. Xavier’s. About Scott Summers and getting the job for the MoMA. His eyes go wide and Bucky breaks into a huge smile, pushing up on his knees in an attempt to get his puckered lips closer to Steve. Steve leans down, but just when they’d lock lips, he dodges. Bucky scoffs a laugh and tries again. Only to have Steve do it another time.

“ _Steve_!” Bucky whines. “Kiss me, damn it!” Chuckling, Steve gives him his kiss and Bucky whispers, “That’s so fuckin’ awesome, dude. M’happy for you. Gonna be a huge artist one day. M’gonna have’ta blackmail ya’ for lot of money. I can see the headlines; _Famous Artist’s Former Escort Tells All_!”

“Ha, ha,” Steve deadpans and takes Bucky by the hair to lower his upper body to the floor. Has him stay with his knees up. With him this way, ass in the air, head pressed against the floor--Steve nudges his legs a few inches apart--he’s even more perfect. “Shall you be my first exhibit, sweet boy?” 

A finger runs down Bucky’s neck and then the rope pressed against his spine. He lets out a soft whimper and shivers. 

“Just think about it. I’d sell millions of tickets. Everyone coming to catch a glimpse of _my_ artwork. _My_ property on display.” The thought actually leave Steve dizzy. “Everyone would want to touch you, you know. How could they not? But…” Steve reaches between Bucky’s legs and gives his balls a sweet, merciless tickle. “No touching. This is only for _me_ to touch. Isn’t that right, good boy?”

“Y-yes, yes…” He stutters. Eyes squeezed shut and mouth fumbling around his words. “Y-yours. Prop-property of Steve Rogers.” He falls over a laugh at something that goes through his brain before voicing it. “Trademarked.”

Steve snorts. “You dumbass.”

Still, that phrase, title, _property of Steve Rogers_ , it melts in Steve’s stomach. Sinks in through every pore of his skin and becomes part of him. Words strung together to make Steve whole and every bit a lie to pull him apart again. 

Bucky pouts when Steve takes his hand away from his tesitcles and Steve flicks his ass for that. He steps away, only to torment Bucky a bit since all he really needs to do is stretch and he can reach the crop from where he is. When he steps back, he runs the leather across Bucky’s ass and down his thighs and over the soles of his feet.

“You want it, baby?”

“Mhm! Mhm!”

“Use your _words_ , Bucky.” Steve orders, pressing the end of the crop hard at the base of his spine. “Like a _big_ boy.”

That makes him hiss a bit and Steve backs off off so that he can answer.

“Yes, sir.” He says and then mutters, very much under his breath, “тебе ебу.” Before going on to ask, “Please… make it hurt. _Please_ make me cry.”

Steve ignores the Russian, though he’s fairly sure Bucky’s just used the language barrier to _curse_ at him, and starts slapping the crop all over Bucky’s ass. Not light, but not hard; not like Bucky wants yet. 

The best thing about the crop is, knowing how to use one, gives Steve access to several places on Bucky’s body as long as he’s not hitting too hard. Steve _knows_ the right areas he can strike hardest--what _hardest_ is for Bucky is yet to be determined--but he still knows which areas of the body to avoid. Like around the kidneys, tailbone, neck. 

His ass though, that’s starting to get pink just from the warm up hits Steve’s giving it, so Steve strikes a bit harder. Just once, but enough to make Bucky gasp. 

Steve starts moving to Bucky’s thighs; alternating between left and right. Slap, slap, slap. Back up to his ass. Slap, slap, slap. Down to the back of his calves. Slap, slap, slap. The soles of his feet. Slap, slap, slap. Below his shoulder blades. Slap, slap, slap. A bit harder as he goes along each time until each spot is red and tender and hot to the touch. 

Sweat dots all along Bucky’s body as the anticipation of what’s to come starts driving him out of his mind. Where will he be touched next? How hard? Or soft? Will the leather be brought down across his skin with a thud? Or wrap around with a striking bite?

Steve goes with option B. Testing the waters a bit more and flicking the crop fast and hard. Biting down on Bucky’s ass like fire and yanking a yelp from him. That’s been the hardest hit yet and Bucky jerks up. But with no support from his arms to help keep him up he just collapses back down. 

“Breathe, baby,” Steve comforts. Runs a hand along his back and rubs his neck. “Take a deep breath.”

Head nodding into the floor, Bucky draws in a deep gulp of air through flared nostrils and lets it out through his lips. 

“Okay?” Steve checks in.

“да,” He mumbles. Nods and remembers to repeats in English. “Yes, sir.”

“Good boy.”

He wiggles his ass a bit. “More? Please, Steve? Sir, pl--ah!...”

Steve doesn’t let him finish with his begging before striking down again. Making Bucky choke on his words and giving him what he wants. Bruising his ass, that’s for sure. Quite possibly putting a welt or two there as well. 

Hips starting to rock, doing nothing, of course, but thumping against the air, Bucky whimpers. The cockring doing its job. Holding him back and making his dick swollen and almost purple, it’s aching for touch. There’s moisture in Bucky’s eyes. One, fat tear sticks to his eyelashes. Dancing along fine hairs before rolling down his cheek. 

Steve rubs the spot he’s just struck. Presses down a bit harder than necessary and Bucky cries out again. As best he can, wrapped up in all the ropes and bent forward all needy and exposed, Bucky turns so that he can glance at Steve. At first, he just looks at him. Doesn’t seem like he sees much of anything given the very spacy expression painted all over him. Sleeping but not asleep. Then he gives him quite the pathetic look from under strands of sweat soaked hair. Bottom lip pushed out and eyes big and wide.

Makes Steve snicker. “What is it?”

“Still dressed,” He whines. Very child-like. “S’not fair.”

“You want me to take my clothes off?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods. “Pretty please? Wanna taste.”

He complies with Bucky’s wishes, but takes careful note of the way he’s speaking and looks. Floating and far-off. Mind disconnecting a little, maybe even more than he realizes. Bucky might be drifting into subspace. And if that’s the case, Steve needs to pay extra attention to every little thing that happens. Read every bit of body language that goes on. While he’s had partners go into subspace before, very deep into subspace in fact, he’s never had it happen to Bucky. He needs to take care of him while in such a state. Make sure nothing happens to him. Because right now, Bucky is his. And Steve takes pride in his property. Takes proper care of it all. 

Even with his head pressed down in the floor, Bucky watches with great interest as Steve sheds each article of clothing; one by one. Slowly peeling everything off. He licks his lips when Steve’s shirt comes off, and for the first time ever, Steve really starts to believe that Bucky really _does_ find him as hot at he claims. Maybe it _isn’t_ all part of the act. 

The kid’s tongue comes out as though he can reach Steve’s body from there. Steve grins and pulls him up by the ropes around his torso, carefully avoiding tugging those around his arms. He sets him on his knees again, brushes damp hair away from his eyes, and holds him by his shoulders to keep him steady to give him the chance to regain his balance. 

Right in front of him, Steve makes a show of bringing down his pants. Freeing his hard on and letting it hang just by Bucky’s lips. Bucky opens his mouth. Comes close to wrapping his lips around him, but Steve pulls back just before he can.

“ _Oh_ …” He whimpers. “Please, sir. Can I?”

Instead of feeding him his cock, but _oh how fucking tempting to get his throbbing cock inside that sinfully delicious mouth of his_ , Steve points to his abs and steps back up to him. Bucky gets the message and kisses there. Then licks sweetly. Does the same thing when Steve points to another spot on his abdomen. Steve knows he’s starting to get antsy when he starts eyeing his cock again.

Giving himself a few strokes, maybe a little showy, just because Bucky’s probably _dying_ for some friction of his own, and _yep_ , major frustration passes through his eyes, Steve nods.

“Go ahead, baby. Have your taste.”

That frustration turns to gratitude and Bucky tries to get in a thank you, but only the first half of the first word comes out before he choking himself over Steve’s dick. 

Steve would chuckle if not for the amazing sensations that run through every inch of him with Bucky sucking him off like this. As though getting his mouth on Steve is some dying wish and there’s only so much time. Steve ends up putting both hands on Bucky’s head. Just rests them there as he keeps it up.

“Oh fuck…” Steve pants. “Bucky… oh shit… you… so good… such a… good boy…”

Bucky starts rolling his hips back and forth. Trying for some friction and only managing to get his dick up against his belly. Smearing precome there and just trying harder through failed efforts.

Backing away, Steve lets his dick fall from Bucky’s mouth even though Bucky tries his damnedest to keep it there. 

“Don’t be a greedy boy,” Steve scolds. “You take what I give you.”

Bucky sniffles and nods. There’re still tears in his eyes. Dampening eyelashes. Lips quivering, Bucky glances down at his lap. Erection so _aching_ and _needing_ some attention.

“Wanna come, sir.” He squeaks. Small and soft. 

“Yeah?”

“Please?”

Steve pets his head, running his hand down over his cheek and under his chin to lift his head.

“Not yet.”

Though he must have expected that, probably even _wanted_ that, Bucky still looks like he wants to cry. 

“Okay,” His voice is shakey, and only _just_ comes out when he agrees to Steve’s order. Being so good for him. “P-please… touch?”

“God, you’re so good for me, baby,” Steve compliments. Praises that makes a shy, but beautiful smile twitch the corners of Bucky’s mouth. “You deserve a little something.”

Steve gives him that, first having Bucky lick his hand up nice and good. The second Steve _touches_ him, Bucky is damn near _screaming_ to every star in the heavens. 

“Fuck! Holy shit… shit! пожалуйста! Oh my… Sir… oh shit… да, да, да!”

His cock is so swollen, God bless the invention around the base of it, that Steve can feel his pulse through it. The veins bulging through the delicate skin around it. Bucky’s fallen forward as Steve strokes him, head falling into his stomach and moving back and forth as he continues to moan and mutter and cry out some more. 

“ _No_!” He whines frantically when Steve suddenly lets go. Tears now overflowing. “Oh no, no! пожалуйста! Please, sir, don’t stop…”

“Mm-mm,” Steve kisses the top of his head. “I didn’t give you permission to come anyway.”

Bucky groans his irritation, tosses his head back and then bumps it against Steve again. He sniffs and squirms about. Likely trying to ease his discomfort when there’s no real comfort to be found. Not with so much stimulation going on. Between the fire still burning through him from the crop, the ropes snug around him, the tug at his arms, the ache in his cock, the cockring denying him release, the airy sensation of oncoming subspace--so much for one body to process. 

“Showered.” He mutters.

Steve slips fingers under his chin to coax his face up towards him again.

“What was that?”

“Showered…” Bucky must realize he’s not articulating this correctly and tries again. “Me. I showered. For you. ‘Fore I got here.”

Ah. Okay. Steve gets what he’s after. The request he’s trying to make without coming out and asking. That’s if he could actually get it out right now anyway.

He kisses him. Oh hell, Steve could spend hours and hours just kissing him, he tastes so sweet.

“You don’t think I had you displayed like that cause I didn’t want to do that, do you?” He teases. Bucky hums at the understanding. “Come on. Lets get you back in position so I can eat that perfect little ass of yours.”

A tremble runs through Bucky as Steve eases him back down, rubbing out his shoulders before doing anything else. Just like he suspected, there are bruises forming from his work with the crop, and those two spots have nice welts on them. Steve’ll have to take extra care with the aloe-vera when they’re done. 

Steve circles a finger around Bucky’s hole, which flutters involuntarily. Aching for something. For anything at this point. One soft lick is all it takes to make Bucky moan loudly. Steve parts his cheeks and tucks his face in deeper. Licking and lapping. Pulling gasps and grunts and groans from Bucky. Bucky shudders and shakes as Steve lathers him up with saliva. Every now and then, Steve needs to take hold of his waist to keep him still.

All the perfect noises he makes, the way he moves, how he tastes, Steve could do this for hours. Just to see if he could make him come from just his tongue. No touching at all. Just lapping away at his ass. Sticking it further in, burying his face in there just to get as deep as possible. Having Bucky squeal the way he is now. Begging… more… more…

“Please! Sir… oh god… I need…”

Steve pulls away when he realizes what’s happening again. He slaps his hand down on Bucky’s ass, right over one of the lighter bruises. Makes Bucky stutter and freeze.

“No coming.”

Bucky moans and digs his forehead along the carpet. Grinds his teeth together as more tears leak out of his eyes. Steve reaches over to wipe them away. He kisses his shoulder on the way back.

“You will.” He whispers. “You don’t have to hate me too much.”

Lips lifting in a smile, Bucky opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. It takes him another two tries to say whatever it is he wants to say.

“Hate you,” He murmurs. “Don’t hate you.” 

Steve’s not sure which one he means. Or maybe he means both. Bucky’s not the most coherent right now. Not processing everything rationally. 

Grabbing the discarded lube from off the couch, Steve squeezes a dollop over Bucky’s hole. The sudden cool, wetness must startle him since he gasps and jumps a bit.

“S’okay, baby boy,” Steve assures him, spreading the lube with his index finger before easing it inside of him. In and out. Slow and steady, feeling his body clench around it and then adding another. “Like that?”

“Yes yes…” Bucky mutters. “More more more. Oh _please_ , sir.”

So Steve throws in a third finger. Swift and hard and fast. Curling and twisting. Scissoring and rubbing against Bucky’s prostate. Making him scream and pant and beg. 

“P-please! Oh, sir, fuck me! Please _fuck_ me! I’m b-beggin’ ya! Please!”

Steve keeps pushing his fingers in and out, and yanks Bucky’s head up by the roots of his hair. 

“Again.” Steve growls. “Say it again.”

“Fuck me… please please _please_ fuck me.”

“One more time,” He instructs. “This time in Russian.”

Funny that English is Bucky’s first language, yet _that’s_ the one he struggles with in times like this. Because when Steve asks for the Russian it comes out no problem. 

“Пожалуйста, ебёте меня, сэр! Я умоляю!”

“Who do you belong to, Bucky?”

“Y-you, sir. S-Steve Rogers.”

For another thirty minutes. Oh _god_ how Steve wishes he could keep him forever. 

Steve yanks a condom out of the back pocket of Bucky’s pants and tears the packet open. He pulls it on quickly and wastes no time getting inside of him. Just grabs hold of Bucky’s waist and drives home. Where the stars shine the brightest and heat coils around him. Over bone and muscle and belly and heart. 

Under him, Bucky shudders and sobs out moans and jagged whimpers. Broken English mixed with Russian pleas. Steve reaches around to take hold of his dick and Bucky shouts and pants as he strokes and strokes and strokes and hits his prostrate over and over and over…

“Steve!” Bucky wails. “Oh god, please… _please_ … I…”

“No coming.” Steve growls. Doesn’t ease up on anything he’s doing though. Just keeps right on pounding into him, fist fucking over his dick relentlessly. 

Bucky howls and smothers his face in the carpet. His hands squeeze to fists and his whole body clenches around Steve. 

“No, no no…” He cries. “ _Please_. Oh god I… I need to come, sir. I wanna come. Oh god I wanna come, I wanna _come_!”

Freezing completely, Steve ceases all movements. He stills his hips, stops his hand and holds Bucky still.

“Sh,” He soothes. “It’s okay, baby. Stay calm.”

“ _Oh please_ …”

“Not yet.” Steve rubs his back and sides. “Take a deep breath, sweetheart.”

It takes some more panting, but Bucky manages to suck in that deep breath Steve wants him to take. 

“That’s it. There ya’ go.”

“Steve… sir…” He whimpers and sniffles. Voice so small and innocent. “Please tell me I’m a good boy.”

“Are you going to be a good boy?” Steve asks. Keeps on running his hands along his muscles to calm him down some more. “Gonna listen, right? No coming?”

“Y-yes, sir.” He’s trembling all over, but trying so hard. “No coming.”

“That’s my good boy. What a good boy you are, Bucky,” He praises. Watches as Bucky’s eyes rolls into the back of his head and a dreamy smile pulls on his lips. “You like being my good boy, don’t you, baby?”

“Yes, sir.” He exhales.

Steve presses a kiss into his shoulder blade. Peppers more between that one and the next. 

“Such a good boy,” He murmurs, and then slams into him again. Grabs hold of Bucky dick and pulls. Growls hard and fast, “Now _come_ for me, Bucky.”

“Oh god… sir, I can’t…”

“I said _come_.” Steve repeats. Pounds in and keeps stroking. “ _Come. Right. Now_.”

“O ебать!” Bucky’s mouth falls open and no other sound comes out as Steve rips the orgasm from his body. Making him shake so hard he’d probably fall over if Steve didn’t hold him up.

All it takes is three more thrusts and the world comes undone within Steve’s body. All the tightness unraveling and bursting with joy and bliss.

As he settles back down, he reaches for Bucky’s face. Brushes hair away from his eyes and for one panicked soaked moment, Steve thinks he may have passed out on him. His eyes are closed and mouth open, cheek flushed into the carpet and just not really moving. But he smacks his lips a bit and a whimpers when Steve pulls out of him. 

“Hey,” Steve whispers. “Sweet boy, are you okay?”

First answer he gets is a slight moan. Next isn’t much better. All Bucky manages to do is pry his eyes open. They move about the room, unable to take anything in. Drifting away to a state Steve can’t just yank him out of.

“Okay,” Steve murmurs. “It’s okay. You’re safe, Bucky.” He nods and Bucky’s eye close again. Steve starts undoing the knots holding him in place, sure to massage over the any spot the ropes confined his skin. “You did so well, sweet boy.”

Bucky hums a bit, so maybe he’s hearing some of what Steve has to say as he gets the ropes off of him. It doesn’t take long. Hell of a lot longer to get on than to get off. Steve brings his arms down slowly. Murmurs comfort and endearments as pulls him onto his lap like he’d been laying earlier. When Steve takes the cockring off, Bucky moans. Like freeing his dick both hurts and feels great and his body just can’t decide which. Steve would like to wrap him in his arms, but Bucky doesn’t ever want that. 

Within just a few minutes, Bucky starts to come to. He opens his eyes again and Bucky whimpers. An involuntary sound that just comes out as he gains just a little coherency. He peers up at Steve, strands of damp hair falling in front of his face. 

“Steve?”

“Hey, baby,” He cups his cheek. “Feel okay?”

“Um…” 

Bucky starts to shake again. Realizing he’s nestled in Steve’s embrace he bolts up and sways a bit as he does.

“Hey, hey… Bucky…”

“I have to… I have to go…” He mutters. Stares about the room and then scrambles for his clothes. “I have to go.”

For a second, Steve can only watch as he shoves his pants back on without even his boxers. He tosses his shirt on. Backwards. 

“Whoa, whoa,” Steve calls, “wait a second!”

“No, no, no…”

“ _Bucky_!” Steve steels his voice and shoots up to his feet. Takes hold of Bucky’s shoulders to still him. “ _Stop_.”

“Steve… I…”

“You’re still _mine_.” Steve says. It’s the only thing he can think that’ll get Bucky to stop. “I paid for you till midnight and it’s _not_ midnight.” 

It does the trick. Bucky stops trying to leave, albeit reluctantly. He’s panicked and not in the right headspace. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Steve soothes. Reaches out to touch the side of his face only to see him tense in response. “Bucky, you’re coming out of subspace, okay? You can’t leave like this. It’s not safe. I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to, but will you at least sit back down?” 

Bucky scrubs hands over his face. Trembling all over, he nods and slowly goes back to the couch to sit. 

“I’m gonna go get you some water, okay? Promise me you won’t leave, Bucky.” All Bucky does is nod. He doesn’t even look up at him. “You promise?”

“Yes.” He whispers. 

Steve hurries. Discards the condom in the garbage and grabs a bottle of water from the door of the fridge. Other things rattle around in there when he slams it closed in his haste. 

Back in the living room, he finds Bucky with tears in his eyes. Which wouldn’t be unusual for someone coming out of subspace. It’s happened before with partners Steve’s been with, but combined with Bucky’s panic, Steve’s not sure what to make of them. These might not be the normal rush of endorphin induced tears. 

“Here, Bucky. Drink this.” He hands him the bottle. Sits down. Right at the edge of the cushion. “Bucky, has that ever happened to you before? Gone into subspace?”

Bucky takes a few sips of the water and nods. Then he shakes his head like he can’t come up with the right answer.

“Not with… you.” He answers softly. “I didn’t expect you.” That hits Steve like a bullet. Piercing his chest in twisted, unexpected pain. But Bucky rattles his head. “No, I… didn’t mean it like that.” He sighs. “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay. Do you not like it?”

“No, I do. A lot. It feels good.” He sucks in a rough breath. It rattles his whole chest. “But I… I can’t…” Bucky glances over at Steve. His face crumples and he’s suddenly throwing himself in Steve’s arms. 

Bucky cries and shakes and can’t seem to catch his breath as the tears just keep on coming. 

“Oh, baby, sh, sh,” Steve pulls him in close and hugs him into his chest. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Everything is okay.”

Though something tells Steve this cry has a lot more to do with something personal than it does anything else. Perhaps this is the real release Bucky needed tonight. Pleasure spiked with pain. Topped off with an emotional downpour Bucky’s powerless to stop.

“No. N-no it’s not.” He weeps. Wipes uselessly at his face. “N-Nat is m-mad at m-me.”

“Right. Okay.” Steve rubs Bucky’s shoulder with one hand, caresses his arm with the other. “Why is Natasha mad at you?”

He takes a moment to sob a few tearless breaths before answering. “Cause… because she don’t want me to see my client on Saturday.”

The first thought that runs through Steve’s mind is for Bucky’s safety. Obviously if Nat doesn’t want him going out with someone it’s before he might be in danger of getting hurt. But then, if that was really the case, Nat _wouldn’t_ let Bucky go out with whoever this customer is. There’d be no arguing over it. One quick conversation with her and all the stories about her from Bucky is enough to tell Steve that. 

“Why?” Steve wonders. “Why doesn’t she want you seeing your customer?”

Bucky whimpers at that question. Like he’s scared to answer. He hugs himself closer to Steve and Steve can feel the tears against his leg. 

“I’m…” He chokes a bit on the air as he tries to catch his breath. “Because I’m in love with him. And he doesn’t…” His voice drops with a high-pitched crack, “love me back.”

Steve knows he needs to be Bucky’s rock. He wants to be. Solid and strong. To hold him and piece him back together. But he’s not quite sure how to do that with a broken heart. Shattered pieces flaking off one by one. At one little admission he had no idea would hurt so much. 

A part of him was right then. Nat doesn’t want him to go out with this person so as not to get hurt. It’s just not the way Steve thought.

“Bucky, she just doesn’t want to see you hurt.”

“I know, I know,” He’s still crying, but he’s starting to calm a bit more. “I just wanna see him. I miss him.”

Steve has no idea what to say. He wants to tell Bucky not to go. Probably the same thing Natasha’s been telling him. Nothing good can possibly come from this. From Bucky seeing a customer he… he’s in love with. Unrequited love at that. What can come from it? Heartache. Pain. Bucky hurt. 

But Steve telling him all the things Bucky already probably knows will only cause him stress now. 

“You do whatever’s going to make you happy, sweetheart.” He tells him. Words passing by the rock in his throat. “Natasha will understand.”

It’s quiet for a little while as Bucky gradually settles down and Steve continues to hold him. He’ll rock back and forth a bit, but mostly he just pets his hand over his head. Minutes tick by. Minutes the bleed past midnight. 

“Steve…” Bucky breathes. Wipes his face clean and, Steve thinks he’s going to push away like he’s used to, but he just peers up at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak out like that.”

“Hey, no,” Steve hugs him again. “That’s okay. It’s okay, Bucky. Are _you_ okay? I mean… you’re not hurt or anything, are you?”

“Mm-mm.” He offers a weak smile. It reaches his eyes and everything. “You always make me feel good, sir. Real good tonight.” Bucky twists his lips. “Can… can I…” He drops his voice to a whisper. “Stay? For a little longer?”

“Yes of course.” Steve combs his fingers through Bucky’s hair. Pushes it out of his face. “You can stay as long as you like. But…” In the position he’s in, it’s easy to reach into Bucky’s back pocket to pull out his phone. “Call Natasha. Let her know.”

He whines a bit at that request. Even though it’s not really a request at all, but an actual order. Time up or not. 

“But she’s mad at me.”

“Does that stop her from caring? She knows where you are, doesn’t she?”

He gives him a pout and nods. “Yes.”

“Then she’ll worry about you if you don’t get in touch with her soon, won’t she?”

“But she’s mad at me.”

Steve could laugh. He almost does. Bucky really hates the idea of Natasha being mad at him. So much so that he’s afraid to call her. Since it’s almost twenty after, Steve scrolls through Bucky’s contacts, ignores the pit in his stomach, and hits call. 

It rings once… 

Twice…

“Cuttin’ real close, mister. You’re really pushin’ it.”

Despite the greeting, Steve can hear the affection and love in her voice when she thinks she’s talking to Bucky.

“Hello, Natasha.” Steve greets.

There’s a definite brief hesitation. “Hello, Steve Rogers. Where is my Bucky?”

And now that affection is gone. Replaced with ice and steel. Ready to hunt Steve down if she deems it necessary. 

“He’s right here, still with me. But he’s afraid to talk to you,” Bucky gives him a disgruntled look to which Steve answers with a flick of his eyebrows. “Because he says you’re mad at him.”

“Mad at…” She sounds surprised by Steve’s statement. Natasha sighs and sort of groans. Not in anger, at least, it doesn’t sound like it. Disappointment maybe. “I’m not… it’s not… put that asshole on the phone.”

“Kay.” He holds the phone out to him. “She wants to talk to you.”

Bucky glowers at him, but snatches the phone. 

“Hi,” He greets meekly. Listens to something Natasha says and nods. “I know that.” His face crumples a bit as she keeps talking. His eyes glisten, but no tears fall this time. “Yes, I did tell him. He said I should do what makes me happy.” Steve’s stomach clenches. Sounds like they’re talking about him now. He’s already not Natasha’s favorite person. But Bucky’s mouth pulls up in a smile. “Thank you. I love you, Nat.” He grins some more at whatever she responds with. “Okay. I’ll see you when I get home.”

Handing the phone back over to Steve, he tells him she wants to talk to him again. 

“Hello?”

“Just so we’re clear, Steve Rogers, I was never mad at my Bucky.”

“I know that.” Steve assures her. “You want what’s best for him.”

“That I do. I just don’t want to see him hurting again.” Natasha sighs. 

_Again_. That fucking word slaps Steve right across the face. Leaves a stinging mark that seeps inside of him. _Hurting again_.

“I want him to be happy.” She murmurs. “You always send him home happy, Steve Rogers.”

The call ends then and Steve keeps the phone to his ear a moment or two longer before giving it back to Bucky. 

“Drink some more water.”

Bucky’s still laying enveloped in his embrace and does nothing to disturb that as he drinks like Steve tells him to. 

“Bucky, I need to check you,” Steve says. “Make sure that…”

“Okay.” He agrees and slowly sits up. “But I can go over you again, right?”

“Yes,” Steve touches his chin. “Of course, sweet boy.” Kissing his forehead, Steve pushes off the couch. “Get undressed again.” He hands Bucky the blanket, “And stay warm.”

“Yes, sir.”

Pulling on his own pants--opting to stay shirtless since Bucky seems to enjoy him without one--Steve goes back to the kitchen for the bottle of aloe-vera. When he gets back, Bucky’s waiting, naked, blanket wrapped around him. He smiles softly at Steve when he sees him coming back. Soft and unsure. This is new for them. Maybe brand new for Bucky. 

Steve returns the smile. Confident. Not about everything, but this. Taking care of Bucky, looking after him. He sits and pats his thigh. Bucky lowers his chin, keeps the blanket over his shoulders like he’s suddenly shy about his nakedness, and crawls over Steve’s lap. 

The pillow from earlier is still on the couch, so Steve tucks it under Bucky’s head for him. He sighs contently and shivers a little when Steve slides the blanket off. 

“It’s gonna be a little cold, baby.” He warns him as he lathers some aloe-vera on his hands.

There’re those two small welts that Steve goes for first, sure to gently run over them. Followed by the patches of bruises. Mostly on his ass, but a little on his thighs. The back of his calves are a bit tender, too. 

“Sir?”

“Yes, baby?”

He’s trying to hide behind his hair again, peeking out behind those loose strands and pillowed arms. 

“Am… am I…” He bites his lip and must change his mind. “M’sorry again. For freaking out like that.”

“That’s alright,” Steve assures him. Starting to rub his shoulders now. “I… I didn’t do anything you didn’t like, right?”

“Mm.” He’s smiling, but he’s closed his eyes now. “No. Told you, you made me feel great. That… that thing you said about subspace? S’never happened like that before. Felt so good. I just… didn’t expect it. To let go like that.”

Steve’s hands stop moving. Bucky can’t possibly understand how much that means to him. Might not even mean the significance of his words. So powerful. Steve brushes fingers along that soft, delicate jawline.

“Thank you, Bucky.” He breathes.

Bucky’s eyes open again. He looks confused. Baffled by Steve’s sudden gratitude. 

“For what?”

“Trusting me.” He explains. “Thank you.”

His hand is still by his face and Bucky leans into his touch. Presses lips into his knuckles.

“I’m… am I still… your good boy then?”

“Yes.” He gets back to massaging his back, shoulders and neck. “My good boy. So proud of you tonight. You were so good. Listened so well.”

Bucky hides that smile of his back into the pillow, not quite quick enough for Steve to miss it. 

Time’s up and there’s not much more that Steve can do for the marks he’s made on Bucky’s body, but he really doesn’t want Bucky to go yet. If Steve stops though, he might. But when Bucky’s skin quivers, since it’s the middle of December and he’s lying naked across his lap, Steve puts the blanket back around him. 

Bucky shifts, but rather than moving, he simply snuggles close to him and gets the blanket to cover them both. He ends up with his head on his chest, just below his chin, with his arms wrapped around his waist and legs tucked up on Steve’s lap. 

It’s almost half past one and neither of them has moved when Bucky says, “I should go.”

His voice almost startles Steve. It’s been so comfortable, the serene silence and sweetness of holding Bucky so close that the sudden noise shoots through him like a shot of adrenaline. 

“You don’t have to.” Steve says. Can’t bring himself not to say the words. “You can stay as long as you like.”

Bucky doesn’t respond to that right away nor does he move. The grip around Steve’s waist gets tighter.

“I should go.” He whispers. 

This time, it’s Steve who tightens the grip around him. Keeps him from getting up even though he’s not actually tried to yet.

“Stay?”

Steve can’t believe how incredibly pathetic his voice sounds right now. So meek and small. Like a frightened child wishing for Bucky to make the monsters go away with his presence. 

Again, it’s quiet for a few seconds. This time, Bucky shakes his head and it sounds like he tries a few times before answering. 

“I need to go.”

Eyes squeezed closed, like that’ll somehow keep the disappointment from showing up, Steve nods and loosens his arms. 

“Okay.”

Bucky lifts up and off of him. Dresses at a somewhat slow pace as Steve pulls his shirt back on. 

“So, this art thing,” Bucky says as he ties his shoes. “It’s, like, a big deal, huh?”

Well, at least that means he listens even during their games. Steve smiles and nods.

“Yeah, sorta.”

“Sorta?” Bucky scoffs. “Havin’ your art on display at the Museum’a Modern Art is only _sorta_ a big deal?” He rolls his eyes. “You big dork. You ever think you’d let me see your work?”

“I did tonight.”

It takes a second, but when Bucky realizes he’s talking about the picture he took of him all tied up, he blushes and ducks his head down as he goes for his coat.

“Shut up. I mean your real shit.”

Steve chuckles. “You wanna see it? I’d show you.”

“Next week maybe?” He asks. Looks a little excited by the idea. “And, y’know, maybe, like, I can come see that exhibit when it’s up. Sometime. If that’s okay.”

“Sure, Buck,” Steve holds in the stupid grin. He has to. There’s no reason to let it get to his head. He knows that now. “I’d like that.”

Bucky smiles as he shrugs into his coat, Steve helping him along the way. 

“Awesome. And thanks for being so cool, I mean, y’know, before. Most people wouldn’t put with that. Cause, who wants to pay for someone who’s gonna freak out on ‘em?”

“Well…” Steve tucks Bucky’s hair behind his ear. “I would. If it was you.”

Cheeks flushing red, Bucky chews his lip and sighs a smiles. “Yeah, well, you’re kinda the best. Y’know, for a grandpa narc and all.”

“You’re too kind.” Steve teases.

They stand there for a few silent moments. The silence bordering on uncomfortable until Bucky speaks again.

“Kay, I’ll, uh, see you.” He clears his throat. “Next week.”

“Yeah. Have a nice weekend, Buck. Get home safe.”

“Should, uh, you want me to text you or something?”

It’s like he’s a fucking mind reader. That’s what he always wants. To know that he’s safe. 

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” 

Peering up through his lashes, Bucky nods. “Yes, sir. I’m a good boy.”

“Right. My good boy texts me when he gets home.”

“Okay.” Bucky smiles and leans his hairline against Steve’s chest. He looks up and rests his chin there. He leans up on his toes and kisses him softly on the lips. “Night, Steve.”

“Goodnight, Bucky.”

Steve lets him out, watches as he gets a cigarette out while walking down the hall and then leans up against the door when he closes it behind him. 

“Oh shit, Steve,” He mutters to himself. “What the fuck have you done?”

There’s one thing he’s figured out tonight. Self-awareness forced through him. The one mirror he didn’t want to see. 

He’s in love.

Steve’s in love with Bucky. He didn’t mean to fall for him. For the kid who walked into his life one night at a bar he’s not even supposed to be at. One night out how many insignificant others that now stands out among the rest. 

Now there’s nothing he can do about it except fold it up and tuck it into some corner of his heart to pretend it doesn’t exist. Because Bucky is in love too. 

With someone who isn’t Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! My apologies for the delay getting this chapter up. I was super sick last week and couldn't get anything done. Yesterday was my little one's birthday! So there was some celebrating to be had :)
> 
> Anyway, so I know that I spoke to a few people who asked what was to come in this chapter and what I said is not what happened. It was supposed to happen, I planned on it to happen, but as the chapter progressed and it got so much longer than I thought it'd be, I realized I needed to cut it in half. What does that mean for the story as a whole? For now, I'm leaving the chapters at 10, but this is the second time I've had to cut a chapter in half, so it might mean that I'll be adding a chapter or two to the entire length of the fic. I hope no one minds!
> 
> But yeah, I do hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> Come find me on tumblr [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/); a place mostly for Marvel, Stucky, Sebastian Stan, Chris Evans, the MCU crew and I-never-know-what-else shenanigans! 
> 
> Regarding prompts: I'm always open to taking them! but since I'm also focused on my wips, I can't always guarantee a turn around time unless it's commissioned. Never be afraid to drop me a line though! :)
> 
> And for anyone who doesn't know what Shibari is: In Japanese, “Shibari” simply means “to tie”. The contemporary meaning of Shibari describes an ancient Japanese artistic form of rope bondage.
> 
> And since I'm totally in love with the aesthetics of Shibari and how the knots and ties look, below are some nsfw images of Shibari in use:
> 
> ((This first one is the technique Steve used on Bucky in this chapter))
> 
>  
> 
> ((I don't know why, but I think this one, not just the Shibari, but the position and the photo itself, is just so pretty))
> 
> ((and this last one, my good god, this just blows my mind. Hand's down my favorite Shibari artist ever))
> 
>    
> So, again, I hope you enjoyed!! See you next chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> major shout outs to my betas [touchyourblood](http://archiveofourown.org/users/touchyourblood/pseuds/touchyourblood) and [stephrc79](http://archiveofourown.org/users/stephrc79/pseuds/stephrc79). You guys are awesome!
> 
> minor trigger warning for the beginning of the chapter for heavy alcohol use and drunkenness and in the middle for abusive situations/past abuse reference

“Steve! Come on! Do a shot with me!”

Sam’s arm falls over Steve’s shoulders. He jostles him a bit as Steve chuckles and once again refuses. 

“No, no, no!” Steve laughs. “If I start doing shots with you you’re gonna end up having to _carry_ me home.”

The bar isn’t as crowded as it normally is on a Saturday night. Maybe due to the torrential downpours that have been happening all day. Fat drops of rain beating rhythmically across rooftops. Glossy streamers down windows. 

If it had been left solely up to Steve, he’d have stayed home. Considering his socks are still wet from that massive puddle he stepped in as he was darting across the street, it might have been a good idea. Which isn’t true. Steve’s having a good time. 

Tonight was supposed to be a party for Tony and Pepper’s anniversary. A big shindig at some fancy restaurant uptown. But because of some emergency meeting for Stark Industries, Tony needed to fly out to California yesterday morning. The party’s been pushed back to next Friday. Steve had been all set to pop a movie on and just spend the night lounging around. Probably doing his best to not think about anything. Things he doesn’t want to know about. Even if he wants more than anything to know if Bucky’s out having a good time with this person he loves. 

Those plans were tossed out the window when Sam and Rhodey knocked on his door a little over an hour ago. Steve’s not about to admit that he was literally dragged out by the two of them but… well… okay maybe he was literally dragged out by the two of them. They didn’t even give him a chance to grab his jacket.

Pepper and Maria were at the bar already. Happy to switch the celebration from an anniversary to a congratulations. For Steve landing the commissioned job. Really, he should have seen it coming. 

“So we drag your ass home.” Rhodey laughs. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Hey!” Steve holds a finger up. “Those times don’t count.”

“And why is that?” Maria asks. Sipping some of her beer and flicking her eyebrows up when Steve feigns a glare. 

“Cause…” He quickly racks his mind for some excuse. “Ah! I don’t remember it happening.”

That makes the whole table crack up enough that Pepper nearly spits out her drink. 

“I hate to tell you this, Steve,” She says. “But just because you don’t remember it, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

“Damn,” Steve mutters. “So… no good?” He gets several head shakes. Each of his friends declining his excuse. “I’m _not_ doing shots!”

They all laugh again as both Sam and Rhodey add in muffled boos in response to Steve’s refusal. Not that Steve really doesn’t want to have one with them. Truth is, he does. It’s just… hard liquor sometimes turns into something of a truth serum on Steve. And at the moment, there’s way too much he’d rather not blurt out in a drunken confession. 

“Come on, Steve!” Rhodey chuckles. “We’re out for _you_!”

Sam adds, “We’re celebrating! C’mon, man, how often do you get your first commissioned job, huh?”

“Theoretically?” Steve murmurs. “Only once. I suppose. But…” He pushes his chair back and moves away from the table. “I’m using the restroom. If you really want to do shots…” _Yes... no… Damn it._ Shots are never a good idea. Nothing good _eve_ r comes from Steve and shots. Not for him. Evenings of such a mix have resulted in his friends collecting many embarrassing stories. “ _I’ll_ be right back.”

He gets a few _boos_ and _hisses_ as he leaves the table. Even feels a few napkins hit him in the back. Steve laughs and flips them all off over his shoulder. 

His daring escape to the bathroom has not been made just to use the facilities. After Steve washes up, his hand acts on its own. Simply pulls the phone out of his back pocket. 

It’s just the homescreen. No notifications of any kind. Not a text or a missed call or anything. Steve’s not sure what he expected to see. Most everyone who actually _wants_ to get in touch with him at times are right out in the bar. His fingers feel too fat as they hold onto the phone. He should just put it away. He knows that. There’s no one to text. No one to contact at all. 

And anyway, what good would it do? Even if he _does_ text who he both wants to and doesn’t want to, it won’t accomplish anything. 

Best case scenario: Bucky tells him his date was cancelled. He’s just sitting at home chowing down leftover Chinese or something with Natasha and Clint because he’s upset that this person he loves canceled on him and his friends didn’t leave him to his own devices. 

Worst case scenario: Bucky tells him he’s hurting. In pain over this person he loves who doesn’t love him back. _Again_. At least, according to Natasha. 

Then there’s always the possibility that Bucky’ll tell him he’s having a wonderful time. He’s out right now smiling and laughing. Happy. Which is a good thing. _It is, it is, it is_. 

Bucky deserves to be happy. And Steve _wants_ him to be happy. Even if he’s not the cause of it. 

Steve sighs. The phone feels much heavier than it really is and he knows it’s best to just put it away. Which he would. If it didn’t start ringing and make Steve jump damn near two feet in the air. 

Barely even thinking to look at the caller id, Steve just slides his finger across the screen to answer. 

“Hello?” 

“Steve?”

A laugh bubbles up inside his chest, pulling the oxygen from his lungs. 

“Hey, Sharon!” He answers. Finds himself smiling at his reflection in the streaky mirror over the sink. “What’s up?”

“Well…” There’s a lot of background noise. Like wherever Sharon is happens to be loud and buzzing with life and she needs to speak up. “I was just wondering if I could get you that drink tonight!”

Warmth pools in Steve’s belly while Bucky’s face flashes before his eyes. It’s ludicrous, really. There’s no reason to feel like he’s doing something wrong. He’s not going behind Bucky’s back. That’s simply not logical. For one, Bucky’s not his boyfriend. They’re not in any sort of relationship. Steve’s not even sure _what_ their relationship is, but it’s certainly _not_ that. Second, Bucky’s out right now. Out doing who knows what with this person who he loves. Why should Steve feel bad? 

“Hey sure!” Steve forces out. Ends up sounding just as enthused as he goes for. “I’m actually--”

“Then get your ass out of the bathroom, slowpoke!” she demands. “Hurry up so I can buy you your drink!”

“Wait…” Steve rattles his head. “I… what?”

Sharon laughs on the other end and Steve can hear the very easily recognizable laughter of his friends. Confused, Steve pulls the door open and goes back towards his table. Where Sharon is sharing another laugh with all his friends. 

“Hey!” Sam exclaims. “Look who we found!”

The phone is still up by Steve’s ear when he says, “What are you doing here?”

His face ruffles a bit when he realizes that he’s still speaking on the phone even though it’s rather pointless now. He hangs up and laughs at himself. 

“I was actually on my way out,” she replies. “And Maria saw me and called me over.”

Which, given Maria’s hard exterior, is actually a pretty big deal. She doesn’t exactly warm up to people all that easily. For her to go out of her way to invite Sharon over when they’ve only met once says a lot about what Maria thinks of her. Obviously Sharon made a good impression.

“These boneheads have been treating you good, then?” Steve asks. Then narrows his eyes at them all. “What did they tell you about me?”

Steve gets a round of innocent looks and palms held out in their own defense. 

“Aw, Steve, now what we would say about you?” Pepper chuckles. 

“Yeah?” Sam agrees. “Except maybe how we’re out celebrating just for you and you refuse to do a shot with us!”

“Oh yeah, there was that,” Sharon agrees with a flick of her eyebrows. 

“Ah man!” Steve groans into his hands. Face smothered in them. “You guys suck so much.”

“Aw, Steve.” Sharon reaches out for his wrists to lower his hands. “It’s okay. You don’t have to do shots if you don’t want to.”

There’s a playful twinkle in her eyes. Almost like a challenge even if she doesn’t come out and say it. Steve likes it when she wears her hair this way. Pulled back in a ponytail. Shows more of her pretty face. It _also_ makes it a lot harder for him to say no to the side that really does want to throw back some shots and celebrate with them. 

“ _One_ ,” he gives in. Even holds up his index finger. “I’ll have _one_.”

“Oh yes!” Rhodey hisses through his teeth. Pumps a fist up in victory. “We got ‘im!”

“‘Ey, Ang!” Sam calls for the bartender. “Bring ‘em on over!”

From behind the bar, Angie gives him a quick salute and starts getting their order ready. An order they must have placed earlier. At first, Steve’s not sure what she’s pouring into the shot glasses. It’s a bit too dark back there for Steve to see what bottle she’s grabbed. When the salt and lime wedges come out, Steve shuts his eyes and huffs.

“ _Tequila_?” he complains. “You _know_ what tequila does to me.”

“Which is probably the point, Steve,” Maria comments. 

“Hell yeah it is!” Sam agrees. “You haven’t cut loose and really relaxed once since you’ve moved back. Tonight’s _your_ night, man!”

Which isn’t entirely true. Steve _has_ had fun. Has relaxed. It’s just all been with Bucky Barnes. The twenty-year-old sex worker he has the pleasure of seeing four hours once a week and a few times during the week. Who he can’t tell anyone about. Who he’s fallen head over heals in love with. Who doesn’t love him back. 

“Don’t worry, Steve,” Pepper assures him. Adds a little squeeze to his shoulder. “We’ll watch over you. Let yourself have some fun.”

Steve wasn’t always this uptight. Proof is in the stories his friends are chock-full of. Maybe they’re right. One night of unadulterated revelry might not be such a bad idea. Steve could use a few carefree hours. A bit of time to just turn his brain off. Quiet all the noise. 

Angie brings over their prepared shots. Straight up tequila with all the salt and lime wedges they need. 

“Here you go, airman,” she says as she picks up each glass to place them down in front of all of them. 

“You’re sure, Steve?” Sam now double checks. Making sure Steve’s not about to do something he _really_ doesn’t want to do. “You know you don’t…”

But Steve licks his wrist and shakes a bit of salt onto it. He waves his hand through the air. Hurries the rest of them along.

“Oh, now look who the big shot is.” Rhodey teases. “Alright, alright, Mr. Big Artist. Give us a second.”

In that, Steve does, and within a minute, everyone is all ready to throw back their round. Of course, this doesn’t go without a little toast. It’s Pepper who holds her shot glass up first.

“To Steve,” she says. “May he find all he’s looking for.”

“Congrats, man,” Sam concurs. “You deserve it.”

Everyone follows up with a happy to Steve! before licking the salt off their wrists, gulping the shot of tequila, and quickly sucking on their lime wedges. 

It burns going down Steve’s throat. He can’t remember the last time he had tequila, but he does remember the burn. Feels it hit his belly as his eyes water, and he needs to catch his breath. Steve finds himself laughing. 

“Hell yeah!” Maria shouts. “There’s Steve Rogers!”

“One more?” Sam asks. 

“Shit,” Steve mutters. Rattles his head when he realizes that Angie has brought the bottle over to them. “Then I’m taking Sharon over to play darts.”

“Oh, are you?” Sharon asks. 

“Have to.” He laughs. “Otherwise they’ll be pouring that damn bottle down my throat all night.”

Sharon tosses her head back with a laugh. Her hair sways from side to side and Steve feels the urge to run his fingers through it. It’s awfully pretty. He wonders if it’s as soft as it looks.

“I suppose that’s okay,” she agrees. “I believe I owe you the story of what happened to my hamster?”

Which is true. She did promise she’d tell him what happened to her hamster the afternoon before Thanksgiving. 

The next shot brings a rush of tears to his eyes. Stings a bit, too. But it ends up feeling good. Happy company all around him. Laughs and claps on his back. Tony happens to video chat Pepper before Steve makes his getaway with Sharon. Insists that they do one more with him. 

“Come on!” he says. “I don’t get to be there.” He’s already poured himself a drink of whatever liquor he’s got with him. “Come on, come _on_!”

Steve groans and rests his head on Sam’s shoulder. Sam chuckles. Pats Steve’s temple as he pours another round.

“You’re _killing_ me!” Steve whines. But makes no further objections to doing another one. He’s feeling good. Really good. “Totally killing me.”

Tony’s laughing. All the way on the other end of the country. The rest of his friends are laughing too. Old and new. Sharon’s slipped an arm around his waist. It feels nice. That affection. Even if he wishes it was…

No. That doesn’t matter. He’s not here. Steve is out with people he loves who love him back. That’s what matters most tonight. 

He takes the next shot and knocks it back. Like a champ. Gets a round of applause for it and then quickly ushers Sharon out of there so they can play a round of darts.

“Are you any good?” he asks when they’re over by the dartboard. 

They’re on the other side of the bar. Away from the dance floor, but the music is loud enough that the bass beats through the floor. Pulsing through the building like a heartbeat. Makes the whole place feel alive. Just like Steve feels. Buzzing.

“Am I?” She laughs. “I come from a town too small to have a bowling alley. Trust me…” Sharon tosses a dart and it sticks right outside the bullseye. “I’m good.”

It takes them about thirty minutes to play a whole game. A game full of laughter and playful banter. Steve does get the story of Sharon’s hamster and how it always got out of the cage even though they could never figure out how until one day it never came back. 

Steve tells her about his jobs in California and some of the horrors working in customer service. Some of which she can relate to considering she worked her way up from a cashier to store manager in the span of only four years. 

“High school job,” she tells him. “Thought I’d stick with it but, boy, am I glad to be out of there.”

They’re just ending their second game--which, Sharon wasn’t lying about being good, she’s beaten him both times--when she offers him that drink she promised.

“I told you I owed you one.” She reminds him. “For getting the commission. How bout it, Steve? You up for one?”

“You know what?” Steve gathers up the darts to put them away. “Sure. Why not?”

“Fantastic.” She laughs. Really lights up with that smile. “What’s your poison? Lemme guess… you’re a beer man, right? Tap? Domestic?” Sharon taps a finger to her chin. “And light.”

Steve laughs. Boy does she have him pegged. Well, the light part only comes about because of the shots. 

“That sounds good to me.”

“Alright.” She gives him a thumb’s up. “Then I’ll go scrounge those up for us and how about _you_ go get us a spot at the pool table so I can whoop your ass at pool, too?”

Glancing to the spot she’s referring to, Steve eyes the billiards table. Sees it’s empty. 

“You’re gonna kick my ass there, too?” he questions. “Can’t gimme a break at all, can you? Even though it’s _my_ night?”

“Oh no way, mister!” She’s already headed towards the bar. “Where’s the fun in that?”

While she’s gone, and in a quick moment of privacy, Steve steals a glimpse at his phone. He’s not sure why. There’s nothing of course. Not that there would be. He just can’t help it. This urge to check. To make sure he hasn’t missed anything. 

Sharon comes back over minutes later with a nice, frosty mug of draft beer. Perfectly executed in the pour, _thank you, Angie_. The crisp, smooth taste that runs down his throat is such a contrast to the shots from earlier. So much so that he chugs half the thing in one gulp.

He pulls it away from his mouth with an exaggerated _ah!_ and gets a hearty laugh from Sharon who offers him a salute as means of applause. And then proceeds to very seriously kick his ass in pool. Making tricks shots and sinking them with ease and just making nearly every shot she tries after setting up the one she wants. 

There’re a few empty mugs on the round table next to them. Steve’s been talking and talking and talking. It’s almost hard not to. Like some cork’s been pulled out and a stream of endless words is just pouring out of him. 

“My friend, Logan, _that’s_ my friend in California, he got me the job at school…” he says. Or, “Sam and me? Sam and me go so way back. I mean, way, way back. _Oldest_ friend in the _world_!” Even, “I think maybe I was in love with him once.” Steve clapped a hand over his mouth when he said that. “Oh shit… I… I shouldn’t have…”

But Sharon only giggled and assured him that it was fine. Steve moves around a lot, too. His body pumped with energy and unable to stand still. He feels like a kid who’s sucked down one too many Pixie Sticks. Riding a sugar high.

Sharon’s told him about her ex-husband and how they were highschool sweethearts. Got married because they just felt like it was the next thing to do.

“I still love him, but we just weren’t meant to share a life like that together.”

“Do you wanna get married again?” Steve asks and then grunts at his filter-less question. Alcohol making him less nervous but more boneheaded. “Sorry, sorry! You don’t have to answer that!”

“No, that’s okay!” she tells him. “I dunno, really. Right now I’m just concentrating on the present. Seeing where things go. If something comes along…” She shrugs. “I guess I’ll see where it takes me.” 

Sharon is in the middle of lining up what she wants to do and executes her move. Which happens to include making the cue hop over one of Steve’s solids so she can get her striped into the corner pocket. Steve drops his head down with a groan.

“This is _embarassing_!” Steve whines as he falls over the table. Second game finds him with little improvement. “Can you show a _little_ mercy?”

“You didn’t believe me, did ya?” Sharon asks. She comes back around to his side of the table and smiles. “Underestimated me, right?”

“Oh now that’s… that is not fair.” Steve straightens and pouts. His body is stirring with life and giddiness. “I was in _no_ way informed” — he makes an exaggerated swipe with his finger through the air — “of your billiards’ skills to make an educate… educated guess on just how _much_ of an ass kicking you’d bestow upon me.”

That makes Sharon laugh so hard she leans forward just enough that she’s _almost_ got her head on Steve’s chest. The close proximity make it easy for Steve to put a hand lightly on her forearm as he laughs along. Sharon, in turn, ends up with both hands at his waist. As their laughter dies down, Steve and Sharon both look into each other’s eyes.

Steve can’t be sure, the darker bar ambiance makes it a little difficult to tell even with the brighter lights over the pool table, but Sharon might blush a bit. He sure does. 

“Sharon?”

“Yeah, Steve?”

“You think… um… maybe…” Steve clears his throat. All hands stay where they are. “When there’s no alcohol or anything involved, that maybe I can… ask you to dinner?”

He’s not sure where the question comes from, but he’s sure about asking it. The more time he spends with Sharon, the drinks and stories and carefree merriment, the less inclination Steve has to check his phone. There’s happiness to be found right where he is.

A smile grows on her face. Her eyes sparkle, even in the dimly lit room and she shrugs sweetly.

“I think that’d be okay,” she answers. “I might say yes.”

Dizzy with excitement, Steve can only reply with a silly giggle. The last time he asked someone out--not including Bucky, but he’s sure that doesn’t actually count--was over a year ago and that ended after three dates. 

The dancefloor has filled up and, for some reason, Steve feels an ache to be on it. Music pulling at his muscles. Maybe Sharon will want to dance with him. That’s if he doesn’t fall all over himself. Over at the table where all his friends are sitting, Steve can hear them howling with laughter. It catches Sharon’s attention as well. Maria’s pouring more shots. Steve’s having fun. A whole lot of fun. Missing Bucky, but still having fun.

It’s Steve idea to have another shot.

___________

Steve’s arms are swung over Sam and Rhodey. The ground keeps moving underneath him. The world unsteady around him. He’s talking. His mouth forming words and maybe stringing together sentences.

“Are we…” Steve smacks his lips together. “We are we?”

His two escorts give a light chuckle. Steve works on trying to get his eyes open more. They seem to be very uncooperative right now. Keep on closing when he wants them open. 

“Told ya’, man,” Sam says. “We’re taking you home.”

Steve lets out a high-pitched whine. “But I thought we…” He bites back a giggle that comes out of nowhere. “Thought there was fun. Fun. We having… did we have fun?”

“Yup,” Rhodey answers as Sam pushes a door open. That door. Steve’s door? “But it’s time to get you home now.”

“Oh, you _guys_!” Steve exclaims. “You are the best and mine friends. Mine… no _my_ friends!”

There’s more mumbled sentences and room spinning and giggling. What’s so funny? Everything is. Steve knows that Sam’s talking to him, but he can’t quite make out the words. They won’t get through the wavy vision that’s in front of his eyes. Or the water in his ears that’s making his head twirl. 

But now Steve is in his room. Sitting on his bed. His two friends no longer at his sides. There’s something touching his foot. He glances down to see Sam there. Pulling Steve’s shoes off for him.

“Sam?”

He looks up from where he is and smiles up at Steve. 

“Yeah?”

“I messed it all up,” Steve chokes out. It hurts to say and he suddenly has the desperate urge to cry. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You messed what up, Steve?” Sam asks. Rising to his feet now and sitting down next to him. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry, Sammy.” Those tears do show up. Run down his cheeks. One by one. “I shouldn’t have left.”

“Aw, Steve, it’s okay.” Sam puts his arm back around him and gives him a hug. “No one’s upset with you. I’ve never been either. I _promise_.”

Steve opens his mouth wide. He’s really thirsty and so tired and so sad right now. Why is he so sad? When did everything stop being funny?

“Maria’s real good, huh?” he states. Cause it’s not really a question. Steve knows the answer. “You love her?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“That’s good,” Steve mutters. Says again, “That’s good.” And then finds himself laughing more. Funny’s turned back on. “I’m in love. Did you know that, Sam? I love him and I love him, but he doesn’t love me.”

This bed is so comfortable. The pillows are calling him and the blankets want to wrap him up and keep him warm.

“Who are you in love with, Steve?” 

What? Sam’s still here? 

Oh hell, Steve misses Bucky. He wonders what he’s doing right now. Whatever it is, Steve hopes he’s safe. _Please let him be safe._ Preferably happy. Warm, too. Steve can keep him safe. Make him happy. Keep him warm. But Bucky doesn’t want him to. 

“He loves someone else,” he mumbles sadly. Sam’s guiding him back into the bed now. Pulling blankets back and helping Steve into them. “He doesn’t love _me_ but I love _him_ and he loves someone _else_.”

“Alright, buddy.” Sam brushes hair away from Steve’s face. “Time to get some rest.”

“Yeah, you’re good, Steve. Water’s on your nightstand.” Rhodey? When did… did Rhodey leave? When did he come back?

Sam and Rhodey are both chuckling again. Steve must have said all that out loud.

“Sleep it off, man.” Sam tells him. “I’ll check on you in the morning.”

“Mm.” Steve snuggles into his pillow. It feels so soft. Wow, Steve really loves this pillow. It’s probably the best pillow in the world. “Night, night.”

There’s sun seeping into the room. Beams of light kicking Steve in the face way too early. It’s too bright and the room is spinning. Steve glances at the clock. It’s a little after six in the morning. He doesn’t remember the last time he checked the time. Doesn’t really remember much. There was laughing and dancing and darts and food. Last memory that stands out clearly is chatting with Sharon. Who… did he ask if it was okay to ask her out? Steve thinks he might have. And… she said yes? 

Things start to get fuzzy after that and then disappear all together. All he knows is that he was at the bar, drinking with his friends and now he’s at home. Hungover as all hell. 

His headache, this jackhammering in his head, is enough of an indication that he probably won’t piece together the shattered moments of the previous night. 

He moans as he rolls onto his back, palms pushing into his eyes. Tequila. Okay yes. He remembers that. Liquid death, they should call it. Steve’s pretty sure that Sam and Rhodey got him home. Just like they promised. Speaking of Rhodey… he said something about water…

On the nightstand. _Bless you to every heaven, James Rhodes_. 

Steve knows enough not to chug it all down like he wants to. That always holds the possibility of putting too much in his stomach too quickly and having it come back up on him. Which, given the state of his belly at the moment, might happen anyway. Still, he needs to get rid of the sand in his mouth, so Steve sips the water.

When he leans back over, he feels something hard and uncomfortable under his side. As if his body needs _another_ thing adding to its discomfort. Steve groans and digs underneath him until he yanks out whatever’s shoving into his skin. His phone.

Steve would just toss it to the side and pass out again, but something catches his attention. His phone is not on the homescreen. Possible that it happened with all the movements while trying to get at it, but it seems unlikely that he somehow got the passcode through. Steve stares at it for a minute. Feels… oddly familiar. 

Did he… did he use his phone last night? Call someone? Why does he feel like he was on the phone?

He checks his recent call list and feels his heart leap into his throat. Yeah, Steve definitely might get sick. The most recent call. It’s to Bucky. And it lasted for sixty-seven minutes. 

***

By the time Monday rolls around, the only thing Steve can think about is that phone call. The one he has no recollection making. Even knowing--and can recall clearing--that Sharon indeed gave a preemptive yes to him taking her out doesn’t help.

After hours and hours of racking his mind, Steve is no closer to the memory of speaking to Bucky that night. All Steve can recall are glimpses and fragmented pieces of the night. That’s after the fourth shot. Everything is pretty clear before that one. Third shot’s the one that did him in. 

He knows he danced--meaning Steve was on the dancefloor and moved across it. Furthest thing from dancing possible though. They played pool again--which probably meant Steve attempted to hold a pool cue straight and couldn’t. Ordered food--which would explain the BBQ sauce all over the bottom of his shirt. 

There are images of smiling faces and Steve claiming them all to be best of friends. Telling Sam how much he loves him. Telling Pepper how lucky Tony is. Hugging Rhodey for several minutes. Probably telling him he loves him, too. Asking Maria to take care of Sam. Telling Maria he loves her. For God’s sake, he probably told the whole bar he loved them.

Steve can _also_ vaguely remember being alone in a corner with Sharon.

Sam filled some of the gaps in.

“You were just talking,” he assured him Sunday afternoon. “Nothing happened.”

“You’re sure?” Steve mumbled. Head aching and stomach turning. “I didn’t like…”

Sam’s laugh cut him off. “Dude, no. You’d have to have had a _hell_ of a lot more to act inappropriate or anything like that. I promise you, you were fine all night. We took you home when you started losing your pep. That’s all.”

“So I didn’t make a total fool of myself?”

“Nah. Hate to tell you this, but when you get drunk you tend to just get all mushy.” Sam chuckled. “Well, you’re _always_ a big mush, but add a lot of liquor and you become an even _bigger_ mush.”

That’s what Steve’s afraid of. He’s quite aware that he becomes a big pile of cozy emotions. Trying to be best friends with everyone and admitting to them all how much he loves them.

It’s the thing that’s been on his mind most. Weighing him down with nerves and anxiety. What did he talk about with Bucky? Did he say something stupid? Things Bucky doesn’t need knowing. Ever. 

The worst part is, Steve’s been too much of a coward to reach out to Bucky and Bucky’s not made any attempts to communicate with him either. Steve has no idea how to interpret that. Could mean nothing. Maybe whatever was said happened to be meaningless. Just a bunch of mindless chitchat that, in Steve’s state, might not have made much sense. Or maybe it’s a lot worse than Steve could imagine and the reason Bucky hasn’t tried to get in touch with him is because what he’s said to him was highly inappropriate given their relationship--whatever that actually might be. 

There’s a pit in Steve’s stomach as he heads to Bio. The damn thing’s been there all day. Getting tighter and tighter. Steve figures--hopes--that while he sits at his seat before Bucky gets there and class starts, he’ll figures out something, _anything_ , to say to explain his actions away.

Only, when he walks into the room, Bucky’s already there. In his seat, at their lab table. Steve’s hat askew on his head. He’s not been noticed yet. Steve. Bucky hasn’t spotted him as he stands there at the front of the room. Dumbfounded and flabbergasted.

A part of him just wants to run the other way before Bucky looks up from his phone. He’s distracted. Very distracted as he giggles at whatever he’s typing. Cheeks all rosy as though just recovering from a blush. Lips tucked under teeth when he reads over whatever response he gets. That adorable smile. 

The part that desires running and hiding has now been joined by a deep sense of jealously. Steve knows that smile. Cute and bashful. No doubt Bucky’s talking to his special someone. Maybe today _would_ be a good day to just run and hide. 

That option flies out the window when Bucky glances up. Catches Steve gawking and smirks before going right back to texting. Too late.

Adjusting the strap of his book bag, Steve draws in a deep breath. Heart hammering against his ribs, he takes his seat next to Bucky and goes about his normal business. Tries cooly to just take his things out. One by one. Notebook, pen, pencil. Opens to a clean page while Bucky doesn’t quite ignore him, but neither does he acknowledge him. He just goes right on with his virtual conversation. Laughing out loud and blushing and twisting a knife further into Steve’s heart every time he reacts.

“ _So_.” Bucky finally puts his phone down. Which, if Steve’s honest, is probably only a minute or so since he’s sat. Bucky slowly turns towards him. Lips pursed in a grin. “How was _your_ weekend?”

Oh boy. Here it comes. Steve’s instincts kick in and all his thoughts lead him to feigning ignorance. 

“Uh, it was fine.” He clears his throat and turns back a page in his notebook.Tries to make it appear as though he’s re-reading last week’s notes. “Yours?”

“Mine? Oh mine was awesome.” 

Neither of them say anything after that, but Bucky continues to stare at him while Steve just pretends to not notice. Well, tries to anyway. Feels like the whole room is staring at him. The thick air pulsating around him until Steve drops his pen down with a sigh.

“I don’t remember calling you,” he admits. Defeated. Utterly and completely. 

Bucky bursts out laughing. His whole face turning red with his first intake of breath. He reaches for his phone again and starts doing something on it.

Dropping his face in his hands, Steve can’t tell what to make of that. Either he’s done something totally embarrassing, yet innocent, or something totally embarrassing and not so innocent. 

“Yeah, I…” He needs to catch a breath continuing, “figured.” 

Bucky’s still laughing, trying to reign himself in while holding his phone out. It’s now on speaker. A mere second later, Steve’s voice blares out of it. 

“Bucky!” His drunk self exclaims as a greeting. “Do you know… do you _knooooow_ …” There’s a pause and a giggle before Steve goes on. “Do you know that I… but you… and there’s _nothing_ … _You_ don’t know cause _I_ didn’t know…” Not even the most brilliant translators in the world would be able to decipher the next bit. “And it doesn’t…” Steve hiccups. “Doesn’t even matter cause you don’t! You don’t but I do. God I do.” His voice drops to a soft, drunken murmur. “I do so so much, Bucky. Baby, I do. I do, I do. But you don’t. _You_ don’t…”

There’s more, but Bucky ends the call, effectively saving Steve from hearing the rest of his inane rambling. 

“So _that_ goes on for about another ten minutes and then you must’a passed out or something cause it’s nothing but _snorin’_ for almost a full _hour_.”

“Holy shit…” Steve mutters. Relief floods through him in a downpour of amazed revelation. “I’m sorry, Buck. I was… sorta celebrating with some friends.”

“For the art thing?” Bucky wonders. Steve nods in answer and Bucky’s pushes his tongue against his cheek. That’s the look of someone about to rub something in. Steve knows it. “And _you_ lecture _me_ about drinking?” He exclaims, pointing both his index fingers right at Steve’s chest. “You lush. Aren’t you a bit too _old_ to be drunk dialin’, grandpa?”

Steve groans and smothers hands over his face. At least he didn’t say anything too revealing. Nothing that’ll make Bucky feel pressured or put him on the spot. Hopefully this little stunt doesn’t put any strain or discomfort on their… interactions either. 

“I’m sorry.” He chuckles. “I really don’t even remember calling you.”

Licking his lips, Bucky tilts his head and flicks his eyebrows once. 

“I gotta say though, I’d love to know what the hell _you_ do that _I_ don’t.”

A knot pulls in Steve’s stomach. He knows exactly what that means. Simply put, Steve loves Bucky. Bucky doesn’t love Steve. It hurts to think about. Honestly, this was a lot simpler when Steve was able to deny his feelings. Pretend they just didn’t exist. Just a simple crush. A crush is so much easier to ignore. 

“Yeah, I have no idea,” he lies. “It was late. I was drunk. And _you_ didn’t answer the phone. Good thing it wasn’t an emergency or anything.”

Bucky ducks his chin down and chuckles. “Sorry. I was with… someone.” No need to guess who. “He doesn’t… like it when I, um, answer other customers while we’re… together.”

There’s glitter in Bucky’s eyes. Sparkling and shimmering. He’s trying to hide it. Keeps his gaze down and his smile tucked under his teeth. The poor kid is excited and probably has no one to share that excitement with. It’s not like he’s going to gush about his date with Natasha. Steve can’t imagine Clint is a much better option. Those are Bucky’s two closest friends. Steve doesn’t even know if anyone else is aware of Bucky’s job. He doubts either of them would try to shut him up if he _did_ try to talk about it. But knowing they don’t approve probably takes the joy out of it. 

Fixing a soft grin on his face, Steve sucks it up and swallows his own emotions down.

“Did you have fun, Bucky?” he asks. “On your date this weekend?”

Bucky picks his head up. For a second, he looks a little shocked at Steve’s interest. That surprise only lasts about thirty seconds before he’s lighting up with the most heartwarming smile.

“Oh, Steve,” he squeaks. Precious. Completely endearing. Makes Steve happy to be able to give him a pair of listening ears. “Oh, I had so much fun! It was so good to see him. He took me out to dinner and then to a movie, we saw that cheesy flick, you know that new one? Even though he doesn’t really like that kinda movie but he knows I do and then we went back to his hotel room.” 

Bucky’s gone on that whole time without taking a single breath. Smiling as he tells Steve about his night. Steve’s never seen him like this before. Walls down, so it seems, and just letting his giddiness shine on through. He goes right into the next part after taking in one quick inhale.

“He’s in town for last week and this week and he ordered us this really _amazing_ chocolate cake for dessert, holy shit, Steve, you gotta try it, it was _so_ good! And then, and then, he was just super sweet and he wants to see me _again_ this weekend and I’m so excited and…” 

He suddenly trails off and looks embarrassed. Bucky shakes his head, pushing his knuckles into his lips. 

“What’s wrong?” Steve chuckles. 

“I… I’m sorry,” he apologizes, though, for the life of him, Steve can’t figure out why. “You don’t care about any of this.”

That right there makes Steve want to punch someone. Whoever it was that’s made Bucky think he needs to feel guilty after going on and on about something that makes him happy.

Doesn’t matter how hard it is to hear all this. All about Bucky enjoying his time with someone he feels so strongly about. This makes Bucky happy. That’s what’s important. 

“Hey no.” Steve reaches out and lifts Bucky’s chin. “Baby, you don’t need to apologize.”

“No, no.” He sighs and turns away a little. “I know I’m being stupid and--”

“ _No_ ,” Steve interrupts. Cutting him off completely and stunning him silent. Sure, maybe it’s foolish on Bucky’s part to get himself so excited over something that can potentially turn sour, but Steve’ll _never_ sit there and let someone feel shame for being excited for something. “I _do_ care. Very much. If this is something that makes you happy, then no one should ever make you feel bad for it.” He smiles at Bucky. Wants to drives his point home. “Go on now, Bucky. Tell me however much you want.”

For a few seconds, Bucky just stares at him. Eyes wide and mouth open just a little. He looks at Steve as though Steve’s done something that’s blown him away. 

“I…” Bucky closes his eyes and then wipes at them. There’s no moisture there as far as Steve can tell, but then, he can’t be sure. “He wants to see me again. On Saturday. Before he leaves.”

“Where does he live?” 

It’s not that Steve’s all that interested in the particulars. But he means it when he tells Bucky that he cares. 

“What?”

“You said he’s in town. In town from where?”

“Oh. DC. He moved there to work over at that big company. You know the one? Hydra?”

Sure, Steve knows it. They happen to be Tony’s biggest business rivals.

“Yeah. He works there?”

“Uh-ha. He’s the VP of Operations,” Bucky says this proudly. Straightening up a bit like the idea of this guy holding such a high position makes him happy. “Youngest one to ever get it. That’s why he moved. This summer. So I haven’t seen him since then. I mean, we've still been talking and all, but...” He goes to say something else and must change his mind at the last second. Biting back another cute little smile. “He, uh, he… texted me as soon as he got in last week. I had no idea he was even coming.”

“So he surprised you.” Steve assumes. 

“He had two dozen roses for me,” he says with a giggle. “Waiting back at the hotel. They were on the bed.”

Right then Steve realizes how little about Bucky he actually knows. He never thought to buy him flowers. Never really thought that Bucky wanted those romantic gestures. He cooks for him, sure, but maybe Bucky would like to be taken out to dinner. Spoiled all night long. Although, to be honest, it was more a matter of assuming Bucky just wouldn’t want them from _him_. Getting him just to accept after care has been like pulling teeth. Steve would _love_ for a chance to dote upon him. To hold his hand and help him out of his jacket and pull his chair out and have candles on the table and soft music playing and tell him to order anything he wants. 

During class, Steve goes over and over imaginary dates he’d have with him instead of paying the amount of attention to Dr. Grey’s lecture he should. 

He could take Bucky to a museum. Any museum really, but for some reason Steve would love to go to the Museum of Natural History with him. Explore the floors and exhibits of wonder. Bucky likes movies and this person took him to one, but perhaps he’d enjoy going to a play. He’s told Steve that he likes musicals and the theater--something he blushed about because apparently that’s just not cool enough--but maybe he’d have a good time if Steve took him to one. A night on the town. There’s a pretty neat planetarium out on Long Island that has night sky viewing. Maybe Bucky would like that. Ice skating at Rockefeller with the tree all set up, which is cheesy and cliche, but Steve wouldn’t care. Besides, they could always just skate at Central Park. The zoo! Well, it’s too cold for that, but when the weather’s warmer, they could go to the zoo together. Speaking of warmer weather, come spring Steve can take him to a Yankees’ game.

“What?”

Bucky’s voice yanks Steve out of the Bronx and baseball games. Shoves him right back in a stuffy lab room in Brooklyn College. Only Steve’s not even sure why Bucky’s asked him anything at all.

“Huh?”

Bucky chuckles. “Why’re ya staring at me like that?”

Steve glances around. Realizes that they’ve actually been excused for their mid-lecture break. And he’s been staring off into space. Gaze directed right at Bucky. Of course.

“Oh. No, I was just… zoned out.”

“Still hungover, huh?” Bucky teases. “See, _this_ is what you get for drinking. Gotta teach you everything, don’t I?”

“I’m not still hungover, jerk.” Steve chuckles. Maybe he might be though. Stomach still is a bit queazy. Of course, that might not have anything to do with the liquor. “You going out for a cigarette?” 

“No.” He’s pulling out his phone again. Steve assumes he’s going to start texting. Instead, he’s on the internet. “Thought maybe me and you could figure out what class to take next semester.”

“What?”

Bucky glances up from his phone. There’s a smirk on his face. Makes him look like a little punk. Steve’s favorite look. Well, one of them. 

“Vitamin B and ginkgo,” he says.

Steve sighs with a shake of his head. Knows the kid is probably fucking with him about something. He just needs to figure out how. 

“Okay… what?”

Bucky giggles. “Helps with memory.”

“Did I forget something?”

“You tell me.” Bucky grins again. Hands behind his head and giving Steve a flick of his eyebrows. “Does registering for Bio 102 together sound familiar?”

“Ah. Yeah, it does.”

Those hands drop down to Bucky’s sides. Suddenly he doesn’t look so cocky anymore. Quite the opposite in fact.

“Did you… change your mind?” he wonders. “It’s okay if you did. I understand if you don’t wanna take the class with me.”

“Why would I change my mind? Bucky, I _like_ having you has my lab partner. You know that, right?”

Bucky’s staring intently at his phone. For just a heartbeat he smiles at it almost the same way he does when talking to that person. Then he shrugs and glances over. That cool air of confidence slipping over him. 

“ _Duh_.” He elongates the word. Shakes his head while saying it like he’s a little kid. “ _I_ am the coolest. _Everyone_ loves me.”

“ _You_ …” Steve plops a hand on Bucky’s head. Must startle him a bit since he jumps in his seat. “Are a little brat, is what you are.”

Still under Steve’s hand, which Steve now uses to rock his head from side to side, Bucky starts cracking up.

“Oh come on, Stevie,” he says. “You know you love me.”

_More than you could ever know, sweetheart._

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve mutters. Scoots his chair closer to him so that he has a better view of the phone. “Let’s see what our options are.”

With Steve near him like that, Bucky sort of leans into him. It’s slight, just a brush of their shoulders, but he stays like that as he pulls up the page they need to be looking at.

“Have you signed up for any other classes?” Bucky asks. 

“Mm-mm. Not yet. I’ll start with this one.” Steve points to one class on the available class list Bucky’s scrolling through. “What about that one?”

“Uh… that’s at eight in the morning, Steve.”

“So?”

All it takes is one look from Bucky to understand the problem. His lips twist and his eyebrows are as high up as they can go. He looks at Steve as though he’s just suggested the most ridiculous thing in the world. 

“Okay, okay,” he laughs. “No morning classes. How about the Monday and Wednesday class?" That's another double lecture, but Steve doesn't mind. "It’s at noon. Is that late enough for you?”

Bucky heaves quite the exaggerated sigh. 

“I _guess_ that’ll do,” he agrees. 

Making quick work of it, Bucky’s finished registering for the class--right on his phone--within minutes. He hands it over to Steve.

“Here.” He offers. “You can sign in and register.”

It takes Steve a little longer. Okay, a lot longer, including a bit of struggling with the touch screen keyboard and fat fingers and teasing from Bucky. Right when class is about to start up again, Steve’s able to hit the send button and he gets his confirmation.

Just like that, a few clicks of a few buttons, and Steve and Bucky are destined to be lab partners again. 

______

It’s just after class, Steve’s gathering up his stuff--Bucky’s gone right back to texting again--when Jim, Kamala, Kate, Eli, Teddy and Billy come back to their table. Steve assumes they’re going to talk to Bucky, but since Bucky barely even takes a glimpse away from his phone to acknowledge them, it’s Steve who does the talking.

“Hey, guys. What’s up?”

“Just wanted to know if we’re still on for tomorrow night.” Kate says.

“Tomorrow night?” Steve questions.

“Study group.” Bucky reminds him. Still on his phone, but now his lips are quirked up. “I’m gonna get you that vitamin B, grandpa.”

Steve clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. Everyone else takes a quick glance amongst themselves. Clearly caught off guard about the nature of Steve and Bucky’s unique relationship and the humor therein.

“Yeah, so you guys are coming again?” Billy wonders. 

“I’m in.” Bucky replies. Half-distracted.

Taking a quick look over at him on his phone like that, Steve’s not so sure about going this week. Not after last time. Things are different this week. 

“Um… y’know, I don’t think I can make it this week. I have… something I have to do.”

“ _Oh_!” Teddy sighs. “So no candy?”

Billy slaps him on the shoulder. There’re a few attempts to get Steve to change his mind. From everyone _except_ Bucky. He acts as though he hasn’t even _heard_ a word that’s been said since he made his last statement. 

There’s not much time for any more convincing since the next class is now starting to come in. Steve’s told he’ll be missed tomorrow evening--Teddy grumbles again about the lack of candy--and they all head on their way. The only one who doesn’t say anything as they leave is Bucky. Once again, too distracted by his phone to be concerned with what’s happening around him.

Precisely the reason why Steve can’t go tomorrow. It’s one thing being the support Bucky needs when he needs it. That open ear when there are none to be found. It’s another to have to watch him and be ignored. Especially when last week saw them being pulled into their own private little world. 

No, Steve’s sure this is for the best. He’s already signed up to be his lab partner again. Maybe it’ll be best to put a little bit of distance between them in the meantime.

Steve sighs as he gets into his car. The seat’s cold, but welcoming all the same. Today could have been a lot worse. And he _did_ get through his first day after admitting to himself how he feels about the kid. Maybe the hard part’s over.

About to put the car in drive and head home, Steve nearly jumps out of his own skin when his passenger side door opens and Bucky climbs in.

“Bucky!” he gasps. “What the hell are you--”

“How come you’re not coming tomorrow?” Bucky asks. Almost demanding. “You mad at me or something?”

“What? No! Of course not!”

Steve’s met with a little pout. Flicking the brim of the hat up a bit, Bucky then folds his arms over his chest.

“So then why ain’t ya coming?”

It’s almost humorous. The way Bucky’s positioned now. Like a child about to throw a tantrum for not getting his way. Looking into those weepy eyes of his, though, Steve can feel his resolve starting to weaken. 

“I just have stuff to get done,” he lies. “I’m gonna be real busy.” He’s answered with a twist of Bucky’s lips, his eyes narrowing at him. “I’m sorry, Buck.”

“Well…” He huffs and keeps that scowl--that admittedly cute scowl--right on his face. “The hell am I supposed to do then?”

Steve chuckles.

“You can try studying.”

“I did that _last_ time,” he whines. Even jerks about a bit. Starting that tantrum. “I’m gonna get _bored_ without you there.”

A small voice in the back of Steve’s mind starts wondering what it’d be like if he just sucked it up and went anyway. Just pretend like everything’s the same as it was last time. But then… that combined with Thursday? No. It’s just not a good idea. 

There’s still this matter to take care of though. 

Steve tells him to look up. The entire atmosphere changes the second they lock eyes. Outside, it’s cold and windy, the skies winter gray. There in the car, the heat pumping through is palpable. Like a heartbeat. 

“You want to know what you’re going to do, sweet boy?” Bucky’s eyes go wide. It’s so quiet in there that Steve can hear it when Bucky swallows before nodding. A response to his question. “You’re going to go tomorrow evening and you’re going to be a _good_ boy. How’s that sound? Think you can manage that?”

Before responding at all, Bucky’s eyes drift closed. He sucks in a deep breath as Steve’s words descend upon him, calming him. Even though Steve’s pretty sure he didn’t realize how wound up he was. Steve doesn’t know what to make of that. The fact that just a few simple sentences from him have all of Bucky’s tense muscles relaxing. 

“Yes.” Bucky breathes softly. Then opens his eyes to look back at Steve. “I can do that, sir.”

“Of course you can.” Steve slips a hand at the side of Bucky’s face. Brushes his thumb behind the soft skin of his ear. “My good boy.”

Bucky hums quietly as a sweet grin passes over his face. The tight space leaves little room for them to move around in so when Bucky moves an inch closer, it’s that noticeable. 

They’re silent as they sit there. Steve’s hand still cupped over Bucky’s cheek, Bucky still slightly leaned in towards him. For a second, just a murmur of a heartbeat, Steve thinks they might kiss. An unprovoked, unpaid for, unprecedented kiss. 

Until Bucky’s phone buzzes, shattering the silence like a brick through glass. It’s so unexpected that the noise of it makes Bucky jump away from Steve and yank the thing out of his pocket as though it’s a deadly weapon needing to be disarmed. He breathes out a hard exhale through pursed lips, releasing a soft giggle along with it. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles as he reads over the text he got. His thumbs slide over the keyboard, but Bucky stops before typing a response. Looks back at Steve and holds the phone up. “I should get going.”

“I can drive you.” Steve offers. 

Words that just come out without much thought. He’d ask Bucky to stay, but he knows he won’t. Moment’s over. Bucky’s been pulled back into reality. A place where Steve is just his customer. Special, maybe, but still just his customer. An entity he means to keep separate from the rest of his life.

“Nah, that’s cool.” Now Bucky’s responding to his message. Quickly. Giving his attention back to Steve almost right away. “I can take the bus. But, uh, since I _won’t_ see you tomorrow, I guess I’ll see you Wednesday.”

He’s already opening the car door. Climbs out while fixing the hat on his head so that it sits as neatly as it can. Which is still falling over his head.

“Okay. Um, call me, y’know.” Steve stumbles over a few words. “If you need anything. Just let me know.” 

Bucky sticks his head back in the car. Smirks at Steve. Expression all sparkly and haughty. 

“Will do, grandpa.” He gives Steve a lazy salute. The side of his index finger crashing into the brim of the hat and making it bobble on his head a bit. “Catch ya later, narc.”

Closing the door behind him, Bucky takes off in the direction of the bus stop on the other end of the parking lot. Steve watches him until he gets there. From what he can tell, he’s smoking now. And using his phone again. Maybe he’s just talking to one of his friends. Or the one he loves, though Steve doesn’t think so. Not this time. He’s figured out Bucky’s tell when it’s him. That hidden smile. Rosy cheeks. Twinkle in his eyes. All things he tries to keep secret. Might even try to keep it all from happening.

Of course, it’s also possible that he’s making plans to see a customer. That Bucky’s not headed home or someplace with people who love him. He could be going somewhere that might put him in some sort of danger. Everyone is at risk whenever they’re somewhere. Bucky’s job puts him at even more risk. 

That new sense of dread Steve’s been feeling regarding Bucky starts to sink down on him. Like drops of rain that pitter patter across his soul until it’s saturated with worry.

“Be safe, Bucky,” he murmurs before driving away.

***

If there’s one thing Tony Stark knows how to do above everything else, it’s throw a party. Even one that was supposed to take place a week ago and had to be rescheduled at the last minute. Doesn’t stop Tony from putting on the ritz. 

The night shimmers and sparkles around Steve. Music beats around him in happy pulsations. Champagne bubbles float through the air and the sweet scents of freshly baked treats waft around the rented room. The restaurant boasts plenty of beauty and history all on it’s own as one of America’s most famous speakeasies from the Prohibition Era. It even has its own secret wine cellar. 

Hot hors d'oeuvres had been served earlier in the evening, some of which Steve had never even heard of. Dinner was a three course meal and pretty delicious. Steve’s cooking skills haven’t improved enough for him to try to compete with the culinary arts and expertise the city has to offer. 

There’s a five piece band and dancing and toasts and fondue. Ice sculptures that glisten with the crisp feel of natural beauty. All this just for an anniversary party to boot. Steve can’t imagine what Tony would do if he was planning a wedding. Then again, he is the type of guy to come back from Vegas and mention in passing a week later that he’s now married. Steve wonders if Pepper would ever go for it. 

They are very cute together, Steve has to admit. With just about a hundred guests, they’ve managed to keep in each other’s sights pretty much all night long. It’s strange how the same yet how different Tony is since committing to Pepper. He’s still the same showboat he always was. Never missing an opportunity to gloat or to have the last word. But he’s… changed. That big heart he’s always had is so much more on the surface now. Almost as though having something to lose has made him so much more aware of all that he cares about. The way he looks at Pepper, even when he’s making some smartass remark, it’s like she’s his sun. And Pepper, for reasons Tony’s drunkenly confessed over the years to not understanding, wants to be with him. 

It makes Steve wonder how he looks at people. What does the world see when he looks at Sam? Can they see that Sam’s his rock? That Steve hopes he’s been even _half_ the friend to Sam that he’s been to him? Do they see the pang of jealousy that he tries desperately to pretend doesn’t exist when he looks at Maria? The person who snagged his best friend and the only other person Steve’s sure he’s ever loved. Is the admiration clear in his eyes when he talks to Pepper? Does the sun shine in front of him when he’s with Bucky? Can that be what people see?

“You sure are quiet all alone here in the corner.” Tony’s voice comes from the side. Pulls Steve’s attention to him immediately. “What’s on your mind, big guy? Thinking about doing some shots?” 

Steve’s stomach practically yells at him just at the thought. He simply takes a sip of his soda and shakes his head.

“No shots for me, thank you very much.” He holds his chin up. “And there’s nothing on my mind.”

“Well that’s normal, isn’t it?” Tony barks a laugh and takes a playful jab at Steve’s shoulder when he makes a face at him. “Oh come on! You walked _right_ into that!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve sighs. “I guess I did. Good party, by the way. You’ve really stepped it up for this, huh?”

“Hey, Pepper’s worth it.”

Following Tony’s gaze, Steve spots Pepper standing by a table just across the room. She’s chatting with Bruce and Betty and glances up for a second. Just a breath of a look in their direction as she’s in the middle of saying something, but she catches eyes with Tony and they both smile. 

“Yeah. I can see that. You’re a lucky guy, Tony.”

“Uh-huh. I got it all, don’t I? Fame, fortune, brains, love? I’m all set.” Tony downs the rest of his champagne and smirks. “What about you? You interested in anyone?”

The soda in his glass isn’t all that interesting. In fact, it doesn’t even give Steve any help, yet he can’t help staring down at it.

“No. Not really.”

“No?” Tony chuckles. “You do a good job hiding them, but, big guy, you’re talking to the pro at hiding hickies. You remember the day before the Junior Prom?”

Steve scoffs. Yes. He remembers the Junior Prom. They were all going together, a big group date. Tony and Pepper weren’t dating then, but that didn’t mean she wanted his neck to be covered in fresh hickies--given to him the night before--when they took pictures that day. True to form, Tony was able to cover them all up. Not one was visible the whole night.

“What’s your point?”

“My point, is just that I can spot a hickie from a mile away. And _you_ have at least _two_ of them. Right around here.” 

Tony points between his clavicles. Indicating on Steve where there are indeed a bunch of hickies. Courtesy of his night with Bucky this past Thursday. Two days didn’t have them fading enough, at least, not enough to escape Tony’s sharp eye. 

“It’s nothing,” Steve mumbles. Nothing and everything. “Not what you think.”

“Booty call, huh?” Tony holds his palms up in a truce when Steve throws a glare at him. “Okay, okay!” That doesn’t mean he’s not laughing. “What about that Sharon chick? She seems cool.”

Now that gets Steve to smile. The soda swirling around in his glass a lot more giddy now. 

“Yeah. Yeah, she is cool,” he agrees. “I like her.”

“I bet if you asked her to dinner she’d say yes.” Tony nudges him in the arm with his elbow. “I like the way she looks at you. Like you’re worth her time.”

Smile growing larger, Steve looks up at him. There’s that heart of his. Right out there for Steve to see, even if Tony’s pretending it doesn’t really exist.

“Thanks, Tony. I don’t… it’s just…” 

Complicated, that’s for sure. Yeah, he could ask Sharon out. In fact, a part of him _wants_ to. But what does he do about… about…

About the kid he’s in love with? The damn twenty-year-old sex worker that he was only supposed to be with once. Just a one time deal, that’s what this was meant to be. That’s what he promised himself that first time. And now… now he can’t get Bucky out of his head. Where is he? On his date with the customer who he loves, but who doesn’t share the same feelings and has hurt him before, that’s where. Because that’s where Bucky wants to be. He wants that person. He doesn’t want Steve.

Now what options are left? He can ask Sharon out. Have a good time with her, but what about Bucky? If Steve starts up a real relationship with Sharon — that’s assuming she’d want to — Steve would have to stop seeing Bucky. Even if it doesn’t happen with Sharon, if he ever wants a relationship with someone he has to _stop seeing Bucky_. Or he can keep seeing Bucky and never have a real relationship. 

“Hey, hey, Steve?” Tony sounds so far away. “Are you okay?”

No. Nothing about this is okay. He didn’t think this through. None of it. Steve has no idea what to do.

The room spins around him. All the music and chatter, it’s so loud. Every sound feels amplified. Even the utensils scraping against plates. It’s too dark. The lighting’s lowered to achieve that perfect ambiance, but it just makes Steve feel trapped and closed in. 

“Yeah,” Steve whispers. Releasing the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding for quite some time. The air feels like fire in his lungs. “I’m…”

“Should I get Sam? Steve? Do you want…”

“No!” He’s not going to be that burden tonight. Sam’s on the dancefloor with Maria. Having fun like he deserves. Steve won’t interrupt that. “I’m fine. I… swear. I just…” His inhaler is in the pocket of his suit jacket. He can feel it there offering the help if he needs it. “I’m gonna get some air.”

Tony looks worried. If Steve doesn’t fix that, he _will_ fetch Sam and drag him away to deal with Steve’s ridiculous nonsense. So Steve ignores the tightness in his chest, the pounding of his heart, the way his skin is crawling like his body is too big for it to fit the way it should. Instead, he smiles for Tony. Claps a hand down on his shoulder.

“I’m fine, Tony. I promise.” He drinks down the rest of his soda and starts walking away. “I just need some air. I’ll just be by the bar in the dining room. Few minutes. I’ll be right back.”

He’s not so sure how good of a job he’s done convincing Tony that he’s fine, but Steve needs to get out of this room. There’s too much happening. So much all around him.

Steve loosens his tie as he attempts to pace himself getting to the bar in the dining room. Takes care not to fling himself at it when he gets there. He would take his jacket off, but there’s a dress code and he doesn’t want to risk starting any trouble. If he gets himself kicked out in the middle of Tony and Pepper’s party or if he gets fined or… no, no they don’t fine people for…

Thoughts racing a mile a minute, Steve looks at his hands. They’re trembling. Or maybe his whole body is trembling.

“What can I get you?”

Steve’s head snaps up to the bartender. Maybe a little too fast since the young man behind the bar looks a bit startled when he does. 

“Water,” Steve mutters. “Please.”

The bartender nods and turns to grab the appropriate tumbler to fill with ice water for him. Steve drinks it all in one gulp and asks for another. This one he takes his time with as he tries to remember the tips Sam’s given him on managing these stupid attacks. He can do this on his own. He has to.

Air in his lungs. This isn’t asthma. He doesn’t need his inhaler, but it’s there with him just in case. In through his nose. Hold for seven seconds. Out through his mouth. Count to ten. Repeat. 

Concentrate on something. What was it? His toes? That’s right. Curl them. Keep them tight. Relax them. Now his feet. That’s it. The muscles in his legs come next as Steve works his way up his body. Isolating muscle groups as his breathing steadily calms, his heartbeat slows, the air loosens and moves around him again. 

Just like that, Steve’s exhausted. Rubbing fingers into his eyes, he’s still very aware of every breath he takes. 

“Are you okay?” the bartender asks. “You want me to get you another water?”

Steve looks down at the empty glass. Sees rings along the coaster it’s been sitting on. He barely even remembers lifting it once let alone enough times to finish it. 

“Thanks,” Steve says. Nudges the glass towards him so he can get his refill. 

There’s a lot less people out here. The dining room not as packed as the hall Tony’s rented. Dinner rush already died down to make room for the evening crowd. Those who come in for later suppers. Music plays softly out of the speakers kept strategically out of sight. Nothing overbearing. In fact, Steve wouldn’t even be able to hear it if there was just a bit more noise. But the conversations are soft, even from the few people also sitting at the bar. 

Most of them are waiting for their tables or simply desired a seat here before heading there. This isn’t exactly the type of place where one decides they’re going to have a seat at the bar and just park there for a few hours. Steve’ll start sticking out if he stays here for too long. 

It’ll be fine. All he needs is a few more minutes to get ahold of himself. If he takes too long, Tony’ll come to find him, or worse, send Sam for him. 

Steve takes a bit more time for himself, trying to ignore the static in his brain that caused all this in the first place. There’s no need to try to work it all out in one shot. Impossible anyway. Besides, he has his commissioned project to now think about. Good thing to concentrate on. Ideas have already started circling around in his head for what he’ll do for the pieces he’s agreed to make. Pieces that will be on display at the Museum of Modern Art. Because Steve was picked. Out of all the students in the school, they asked Steve. 

A small grin twitches on Steve’s mouth. His art. In a museum. Mama would be so proud. 

Taking in one last deep breath, Steve finishes off the rest of his water and figures it’s best to head back now. The night might be coming to an end for him. That busy and loud room has the potential of triggering another attack. Steve’s still a bit worn out from this one. 

Steve’s about to move away from the bar. Even stands and puts a few dollars down to tip the bartender when the people that’ve been sitting one stool over from him get up and leave for their table. That gives Steve a perfect and clear view of the couple sitting at the end of the bar. 

Everything freezes. The breath he wanted to take gets caught in his throat and the world around him seems to fade away when he sees Bucky there. He’s wearing a nice suit. Elegant. Steve’s never seen him so dressed up. Comes as no surprise how beautiful he is. That black on black is completely exquisite. He’s got his hair slicked back and styled with gel. Looks like he might have spent a lot of time getting it just right. More importantly, Bucky is smiling. Big and real, as he talks to the person he’s with. The person Steve can only assume is _the_ person. The customer he’s in love with. And they’re both right in front of him. Steve could probably live ten lifetimes and still never be prepared for this.

They’re in two separate seats, but they’re pushed close enough together that even when one of them moves away a little, there’s some part of them touching. Elbows or shoulders. Knees or a foot. A hand somewhere on the other. 

Steve should leave. This isn’t anything he wants to see. It’s not something he _should_ see. Standing there and eavesdropping is rude and completely disrespectful to Bucky and the trust he’s given Steve. Still, he just stands there. Like he’s some glutton for punishment or something. Steve stands there with his hand on the bar, judging him for his choice, and listens to the snippets of conversations that float his way.

“Are you having a good time, honey?” Bucky’s asked. The guy brings Bucky’s hand to his lips and he kisses his knuckles. “Is my Jamie having fun?”

A wave of fury crashes over Steve at hearing that. Bucky’s _not his_. No. He not. But then… neither is he Steve’s. Bucky doesn’t want to be Steve’s. Steve has no right to such an emotion. This protective and, admittedly, possessive feeling towards Bucky. Bucky isn’t _his_ and yet everything about this man saying _my Jamie_ is wrong. He’s also called him _Jamie_. Steve’s never heard anyone call him that before. But it seems to make Bucky blush and giggle. He even covers his cute smile with his free hand.

“I am, Brock.” And now Steve has a name to place on his immediate, intense, and possibly misplaced anger. “Thank you.”

Brock covers the hand he kissed with his other, tucking it now in both of his, and smiles at Bucky. Quite sweetly, too, but Steve doesn’t like it. Of course, Steve might be a little biased about the whole thing. 

“I’m glad.” He pats Bucky’s knuckles before releasing his hand.

As soon as he has his hand back, Bucky wastes no time in putting it back on Brock. He runs his fingers through Brock’s hair and moves in to kiss him. Only Brock stops him. Tells him to be patient and that he’ll get his kiss later. He laughs at Bucky’s pout and gives in. Leans forward and plants a quick peck on Bucky’s lips. 

Brock orders them drinks as they talk. Scotch on the rocks for him and a Shirley Temple for Bucky, which Steve can’t help but find absolutely endearing as he watches Bucky sip on it. He’s a little surprised to hear Bucky ask if he can have a glass of wine. _I don’t drink on nights I work_ is what he always says. He’s working tonight. But this customer is personal for him. 

When Bucky starts playing with the cherries from his drink, swirling them around in his mouth and plucking them suggestively off their stems, Steve’s sure he’d be laughing, or holding back a laugh since he’d be mock scolding Bucky. Bucky’d probably make some sassy remark about how Steve likes it when he’s a brat and it wouldn’t be a total lie. 

That’s now how Brock reacts. After the second time Bucky does it, Brock grabs his wrist and tells him to knock it off. It’s not what Steve would call rough, but it does catch him by surprise. The way Bucky responds to it is even more surprising. With just a frown and simply apologizing with a slight nod of his head and just stopping. 

Their conversation picks up and every time Brock is talking, Bucky looks at him as though awed by every word that comes out of his mouth. At this point, Steve’s not even listening to anything they’re saying. He’s just watching. He feels gross. Knows how wrong this is. An invasion of Bucky’s privacy. Still can’t bring himself to leave. Even though it hurts. Steve hurts all over to see this. 

Brock is in the middle of saying something. Bucky’s listening with that cute, dazzled expression on his face, chin in his hand, when he interrupts by saying, “I wish you didn’t have to leave tomorrow.”

Both their expressions change at that. Bucky looks as though he’s shocked that he’s said anything at all. Brock looks back at him like he’s disappointed in what’s been said _and_ being interrupted. 

“I have to,” he replies. Adds a hand to the side of Bucky’s neck and a kiss to his forehead. “You know I do.”

Bucky sighs and nods. “I know. I just miss you when you’re gone. I…”

“James, don’t.” Brock tries to interject.

“… love you, Brock.”

A knife twists through Steve’s heart. It’s his own fault, really. He’s the one intruding on this private moment. 

Brock huffs and turns to face the bar. Drink in hand he grumbles something that sounds like _you just gotta start_ but Steve can’t be quite sure if he heard correctly. 

“Sorry, sorry!” Bucky quickly tries to make amends for something that Steve would _never_ make him feel bad for. He’s expressed his feelings and now he’s _apologizing_ for them. “I’m sorry, Brock. I just… I can’t help it.”

Still facing the bar, Brock continues to nurse his drink without saying a word to Bucky. He doesn’t even acknowledge him despite Bucky’s valiant efforts to get him to turn back to him again. After a few desperate moments, Bucky resorts to his more enticing tricks. 

Sliding off the stool, he moves like a cat--graceful and fluid--even just that small distance between them until he’s pressed right up against Brock’s side. Big eyes sweeping up to Brock’s face, Bucky slips a hand at his waist, the other on the side of his face. He leans in and whispers something in Brock’s ear, adding a quick nip to his earlobe when he pulls away. 

Brock puts his glass down and slowly turns his head towards Bucky. There’s a reluctant grin on his lips. Pursed, while his eyes narrow. He shakes his head and releases a hard chuckle. 

“You’re going to be the death of me, James.” Brock taps his lips and Bucky gives him a kiss. “Don’t go ruining our weekend. You _know_ how important you are to me. But you _know_ how things have to be. How they _are_.”

The look on Bucky’s face is heartbreaking. So much so that it takes actual effort on Steve’s part to not go to him to offer comfort. Bucky’s biting down on his lip. Hard. Enough that it might actually hurt. Tears rush to his eyes, but Bucky blinks them away before they have the chance to fall. It’s as if he knows the drill. Knows nothing good will come from shedding tears in front of this man. Brock. Who's done nothing to try to soothe Bucky’s obvious pain. 

Then Bucky offers a few more words of apology. Says he didn’t mean to make Brock mad. That he’s sorry for ruining the night. It’s Bucky in pain and Bucky apologizing. 

Steve hates this man. With a burning passion. Biased or not, there’s nothing to like about him.

Bucky goes on to say, “I just… Brock, I love you.”

“And I’m pretty sure I’ve made how our relationship works very clear to you,” Brock scolds. “Now cut it out or we can call the weekend off.”

A scowl plasters across Bucky’s face as he sits back down. He twists his lips back and forth, his arms folded tight against his chest.

He mumbles, “Dunno why you even wanna see me if--”

The hand to his face shuts him up. Steve can’t quite call it a slap. It’s not violent, not even enough to call the attention of anyone else in the immediate area. But it catches Bucky off guard enough that he gasps and grabs the spot. Steve needs to take hold of the bar to keep himself from charging over there as Brock once again starts to reprimand Bucky. The only reason he doesn’t move is Bucky’s next response. 

He takes in a deep breath and swallows hard. Removing his hand from his cheek, Bucky says nothing about what Brock’s just said to him. 

“Please don’t hit me, Brock,” he says. Quietly, sure, but he says it. 

“Excuse me?”

This time there’s a visible hesitation, but Bucky repeats his statement. Eyes on his feet. Fiddling with his fingers. Everything around Steve disappears when Brock does it again anyway. There’s nothing there that matters more than what’s just happened in front of him. 

Steve has no memory of moving. One second he was standing by the bar, the next, he’s pulling Bucky behind him and shoving Brock back. Bucky might whisper his name, but Steve’s far too livid to really notice. 

“He told you _not_ to touch him,” he growls. So close to Brock’s face he can feel his breath hitting him. 

Now that he’s up close, Steve can see how big this Brock really is. He’s got a wide girth and thick arms. The suit he’s wearing does a good job at keeping the muscles he’s made of well hidden. 

Brock is on his feet now. Fists not _raised_ but not slacked by his sides either. Neither of them have taken a swing at the other, but the heat buzzing between them makes Steve sick to his stomach. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Brock hisses. “This isn’t any of your business, pal.”

“I’m about to _make_ it my business,” Steve responds. 

There’s a tug at Steve’s arm and a quiet voice at his side. The only thing that matters more than teaching the guy in front of him a lesson.

“Steve… no…” Bucky whimpers. “Please… it… it’s okay. Please…”

Steve tears his eyes away from Brock to look over at him. “Bucky…”

“James?” Brock addresses him, but keeps his eye on Steve. “Do you know this man?”

Bucky’s mouth falls open. He gets out a few muttered sounds as his eyes fly back and forth between the two of them, but other than that he can’t seem to say much. He’s panicked. Falling to pieces in the face of a predicament he never dreamed to be in. 

Steve steps away from Brock. Wants to put Bucky at ease. He won’t be starting anything with him. Not so long as he can help it. 

Brock doesn’t need too much in order to put everything together. He nods as though his question has been answered in full detail. 

“Are you one of my Jamie’s customers?” he asks Steve. Not waiting to get an answer, since he clearly already knows it, he goes on to say, “You know how this works. My money. My rules.”

Every inch of Steve burns with rage. He wants to shake this man until he feels as much pain as Steve’s ever felt. But he doesn’t even take a step closer. 

“I can pay for him.” Steve retorts. “That doesn’t have me _hitting_ him.”

Brock scoffs.

“You’ve never paid as much as I have.”

“Bucky doesn’t _like_ to be hit in the face,” Steve snarls.

For the first time since this provocation started, Brock’s gaze falls away from Steve and lands on Bucky. Bucky flinches the second it does. 

“Is that true, Jamie?” he asks. “You don’t like that?”

Mouth falling open, Bucky gapes at him for a few seconds. He closes his eyes and doesn’t say anything.

“I asked you a question, James,” Brock says. “Answer me.”

This time, Bucky shakes his head. His gaze is on his feet when he whispers, “No, Brock. I don’t.”

“Oh, honey, come here,” he tells him. 

Voice much softer now, Brock holds an arm out. Bucky hesitates, takes a few looks between his two customers, and then steps into Brock’s embrace. He’s a bit stiff, but when Brock starts running his hand up and down his back, Bucky’s body starts to lose some tension and he ends up resting his head on his chest.

“Why, Jamie? Why didn’t you ever tell me that?” he asks. “You know I don’t like it when you don’t tell me things. I know how you like it,” Brock’s tone becomes suggestive there, and Steve thinks he might be sick. “But this is how you get yourself hurt, isn’t it?”

Those words pierce through Steve’s heart like individual bullets. _But this is how you get yourself hurt_. As though it’s _Bucky’s_ fault that Brock’s been hitting him all this time. That he never took the initiative to ask for his consent beforehand. Steve wants to scream at him. _No, you asshole_ , he wants to yell. _You hurt him. You._

Bucky makes a small sound in the back of his throat and squeezes his eyes closed. He nods his head against Brock’s chest and Brock coaxes his chin up. 

“Steve said to tell people,” he whispers. “Tell them when I don’t like something.”

Brock nods and pokes the tip of Bucky’s nose.

“And Stan is absolutely correct.” Steve rolls his eyes at Brock’s incorrect name use. “You _should_ tell people things like that. I don’t want my Jamie being hurt. Lord knows what happens when you’re out there selling your body like that. You need to save some respect for yourself, don’t you?”

The only reason this guy isn’t on the floor right now, with a bloody--hopefully broken--nose, is because Bucky’s still tucked in his arms. But that doesn’t stop Steve from seeing red. For his whole body to heat up so quickly it’s likely there would steam coming from his ears if it was possible. His fists are white-knuckled and jaw is clenched. He needs to actually bite down on his tongue to keep from lashing out at all. Because, swear on his mama’s soul, it’ll be a miracle if Brock leaves here tonight without a black eye.

“Thank you, Brock,” Bucky answers softly. As if everything Brock’s just said makes perfect sense and _not_ just the part that does. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”

“Aw, how could I stay mad with my Jamie?” Brock brushes a hand across Bucky’s cheek. That shy smile of Bucky’s creeps along his face. “Now, say goodbye to Stan so we can go and have a nice dinner.” He steps away from him. “I’ll go see if our table is ready.”

“O-oh.” Bucky blinks, and just like that there’s confusion all over him again. He glances over at Steve once Brock is gone and appears as though he might want to cry. “S-Steve, I…”

“Are you okay, Bucky?” Steve murmurs. Now that Brock’s gone, Steve’s concern is Bucky’s well-being. He touches Bucky’s face. The way he knows he likes. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” he responds. Steve has no reason to think he’s not telling the truth. There’s no lie in his voice. “I’m fine.”

“Do you want to leave, Bucky?” he asks. “I have the money if you…”

“What?” Bucky rattles his head, baffled by Steve’s offer. “Why would I want to leave? 

_To be with me_. Steve thinks. Hopes. Wishes. Wants. 

Not with the person who’s twisting words to make Bucky take the blame for his mistakes. Who has Bucky not seeing his own full potential. 

“I don’t know,” Steve lies. “I just thought, maybe… I don’t know.”

Bucky sighs and scratches the back of his neck. “Look, Steve, I’m real sorry you had to see all that. That ain’t never happened before.”

“He’s never hit you before?”

That makes Bucky flinch a little. Barely noticeable but it’s there. Instead of answering that directly, Bucky shakes his head.

“I’ve never bumped into another customer like this. I…”

His answer is cut off when Brock slips an arm over his shoulder and jostles him in closer to his side.

“Table’s all set, honey.” Brock, for the first time since pretending to ignore him, looks back at Steve. “My apologies for the way I behaved,” he says. Thick like honey and every bit as sticky. “It’s really not like me. But it’s good to know that there are people willing to stand up for my Jamie here.” He gives Bucky another squeeze. “Especially when he… well, you know.”

“No,” Steve grunts. Not missing a single beat. “I don’t think I do.”

He can’t be sure, but Bucky’s eyes might shine. As though Steve’s response to Brock’s statement mystifies him. 

Brock though, Brock smirks and simply shrugs. As if to say it doesn’t bother him that Steve hasn’t agreed out loud. He just assumes he does anyway.

“He’s a good kid, my Jamie, isn’t he?”

“Yes.” Steve _will_ agree with that. Only he doesn’t say it to agree with Brock. His eyes are on Bucky. They sweep up to Brock when he says, “You should take _care_ of him.”

“I try my best. He knows how much he means to me.” He pinches Bucky’s cheek. “Anyway, it was good to meet you, Stan.” Brock glances down at Bucky and is already leading him away. “Come on, honey.”

They’re already turned away from Steve. Walking in the other direction. Bucky glances over his shoulder. Face full of guilt as he lifts his hand in a weakly executed wave.

“S-see you later, Steve.” 

That barely even comes out. The small, weak voice of uncertainty and dismay. Steve just picks up his hand. He doesn’t have it in him to wave. 

________

“Are you okay, Steve?”

Steve tries not to sigh. It’s hard to hold it in. He’s made the decision to stay at the party instead of going home to be alone. That doesn’t mean he’s not going to suffer in silence. No need to bum anyone else out. Which includes Betty. And she’s at least the sixth person to ask him that in under two hours. 

“I’m fine,” he tells her. “Just been a long night.”

“Yeah.” She nods her head. Smile pulling up on her mouth as she sits down next to him. “Feels like we’re getting a little too old for this, huh? Eleven o’clock and I’m already looking for bed.”

Steve chuckles. There was a time that eleven o’clock saw the start of their nights. While it might not fully mark the _end_ of Steve’s now, he completely gets where Betty’s coming from. Then again, the crowd and noise, everything with Bucky, it’s quite a lot to deal with in one evening. 

“These sorts of things are getting to be a bit much.” Steve comments. “Give me a quiet bar and a cold beer over this anytime.”

Betty laughs and pats his thigh. “Same old Steve. You know, I was so happy to hear about your exhibit. That’s really so great. I can’t wait to see it. I can come see it, right?”

“Of course you can!” Steve exclaims before realizing that Betty’s joking. 

“Oh good. Cause I was gonna come anyway.”

Laughing, Steve is suddenly glad that Betty’s come over. If not, he’d still be sitting here by himself. Instead, he asks Betty if she’d mind a dance. She kindly and happily agrees.

Despite what went on with Bucky--what’s _going_ on with Bucky--Steve knows he needs to overlook it. At least for now. See the good he has. And he has a lot of it. This is his chance to start a new life. Fresh and away from the grief he’s been stewing in for far too long. 

What is he going to do? He’s not too sure. But maybe it starts with this commissioned job. Maybe a date with a pretty blonde. Definitely good nights to treasure. Tainted with heartache, sure, but a good night with the people Steve loves. 

The choice to stay at the party is the right one. By the end of it, Steve’s laughing and smiling. Bubbling with a lot more life than he expected. He’s spent the last hour dancing and chatting and ignoring the pain in his heart. A lot of people have asked him what his exhibit is going to be on. Steve’s not given them a straight answer yet, but the theme of the show is change. Steve is thinking about focusing on hope. 

Everyone has said their goodbyes. There’re are few stragglers. Some people lagging and dragging it out to see how long they can stay before being kicked out. Tony and Pepper have actually already made a clean getaway. Sam and Maria left just a few minutes ago--not without Sam reminding Steve to take his meds. After making sure Rhodey, who wasn’t quite as sober as he thought, got into a cab, Steve’s gone back in to get his coat from the coat check. 

Steve’s waiting for the girl behind the counter to get him his jacket when someone taps his shoulder. He turns, expecting to see one of his party buddies and instead sees Bucky. Same guilt ridden expression on his face as he had when he walked away with Brock.

“H-hi, Steve,” he greets. Soft. As though suddenly afraid of Steve.

“Bucky,” Steve replies. Gives him a quick nod of the head. Leaves the smile on his face. It’s fake now, but he figures it’s best to keep it there. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Bucky shuffles his feet and is completely lacking that confidence Steve’s grown so used to. “Um, you’re not… mad at me. Are you?”

Thrown a bit by Bucky’s assumption, Steve just stares at him for a second. Smiling vanishing. The girl behind him at the coat check gets his attention and Steve needs to twist around so he can get his jacket. It’s folded over his arm by the time his brain decides to catch up again.

“Mad at you?” he questions. “No, baby, I’m not mad at you. Why would…”

Once again, they’re interrupted when Brock puts an arm around Bucky’s shoulder. This time though, Bucky looks a little disgruntled by the interruption. Steve can’t help feeling a little pleased by that. 

“Did you get our coats, honey?”

“I… no. I was trying to talk to Steve.”

Brock glances up at Steve as though he’s only noticing now that he’s there at all. 

“Ah. Hello again, Stan.” He doesn’t give Steve any time to even acknowledge his so-called greeting. “Let’s get our stuff, Jamie. It’s time to go.”

He starts to move Bucky forward, guiding him by Steve. At first, Bucky goes with him. But right when he’s adjacent to Steve, he plants his feet and it causes something of a domino effect between the two of them.

“James?”

“Um…” Bucky’s eyes flick up to Steve for just a heartbeat before he looks at Brock. “Maybe… maybe we can stay here for a little bit? Maybe… stay with… with Steve? For…”

“No, no.” Brock shoots him down before he even finishes with his request. The one that’s already made Steve’s heart swell several sizes. “We have to get going. You don’t want to waste any of our time together, do you? Besides, looks like Stan is headed--”

“Steve!” Bucky exclaims. “His name is…” He trails off and picks up much softer. “it’s _Steve_ , Brock.”

Arm slowly sliding off Bucky’s shoulder, Brock peers down at him. Wide eyed and purse lipped. Surprised, it would seem, at Bucky’s outburst. As subdued as it turned into. 

“Steve then.” Brock repeats back. “Steve is leaving. Now, I’m going to get our coats.” He hands the lady his tickets. “And then we’re leaving.”

There’s nothing but silence between the three of them. Bucky watches Brock’s back as he collects their things. When he turns back around and hands him his coat, Bucky takes it. Robotically. Just a reaction at being handed something.

“Come on, James.” Brock instructs when he’s in his coat. Gloves on and scarf around his neck. Even though Bucky still has his jacket clutched in his hand. “We’re leaving.”

“But I… Brock, I’d really like to…”

“Let me put it to you this way, _Bucky_.” He spits out his name like it should be insulting to be called it. “If you _don’t_ come with me now, you will not see me again. Ever.”

Bucky’s shoulders fall. Face going with them. He shakes his head and makes this pained, whimpering noise. 

“Don’t say that, Brock… please?”

The ultimatum has been laid out for him, despite Bucky’s tiny and desperate plea for him to take the threat back. Brock’s not going to. Then again, by the look on his face, he’s quite sure of what Bucky’s answer is going to be.

“It’s up to you, James,” he reminds him. 

Once again, Bucky makes that little noise in the back of his throat. Like there’s something stuck there. An emotion he can’t figure out how to express. 

“But…”

“Bucky,” Steve whispers. “Baby, just be happy. Okay?”

The last thing Steve wants him to do right now is go off with Brock. He’s quite certain Brock doesn’t treat him the way he deserves to be treated. Bucky deserves to know how important he is at _all_ times. To feel cherished and loved and precious. Safe and protected. He shouldn’t have to second guess himself. Doubt himself. 

But if Brock _does_ make him happy--and Steve can’t really prove that he treats him _badly_ just… not… the way he deserves--then there’s nothing Steve can do. Steve won’t be that person to put this on Bucky. He loves him. He won’t see him suffer. Not from his actions. 

Bucky’s peering up at him. So many thoughts are flashing through his mind. Steve can see them racing. Some getting bigger, some disappearing altogether, until he drops his head down and nods. He takes a few steps towards Brock, who smiles at him in his approach. It looks to be a triumphant expression, but then again, Steve might be imagining things.

When those few steps brings him right in front of Brock, Bucky pulls his phone out of his pocket. Brock tells him he needs to hurry up. He has a nice surprise waiting for them back at the hotel. A sad sort of smile twitches on Bucky’s lips as he fiddles with the screen on his phone. It only takes him another few seconds before he’s turning the phone for Brock to see. 

“I… refunded what I owe you,” he murmurs. Just a breath of a his voice. Shaky and uneven. “I think I should stay with Steve.”

So much air rushes to Steve’s lungs he think they might not be able to contain it all. There’s a chill that runs through his body. Heating up as it pools in his belly like liquid gold. 

Brock’s face grows hard. His eyes darken as he places his hands quite gently on Bucky’s shoulders. 

“Really?” he questions. “This is _really_ what you want? You’re going to throw away everything we have just like that? All that we’ve been through? All that I’ve _given you_?”

To that, Bucky doesn’t respond beyond opening and then closing his mouth twice. He just stares at him. Eyes filled to the brim with so many emotions, but he says nothing. 

Finally, after several minutes of Brock holding him in such a gaze, his hands slip away. He stands up straight and fixes his tie. 

“I see how it is,” he scoffs. Brock licks his teeth and mumbles, “You fucking _whore_.”

Bucky winces at that. A slap to every bit of him that had been clinging onto just a little more hope.

“Now, Brad, don’t be _bitter_.”

Steve has no idea where the statement comes from, but he’s saying it. Taunting Brock in any way he can. Brock glares at him with clenched teeth.

“You want him?” He throws his palms out. Waves them through the air once before sniggering. “You can have ‘im. The little whore’s all yours.”

“Say it again,” Steve growls. “Go ahead. Call him a whore _one_ more time. See what happens.”

The room holds its breath around them. Air stilling and growing thick. An impatient presence to see what’s going to happen next. Which is Brock shrugging.

Then saying, “I was done with him anyway.”

That’s a lie. Flat out. Steve can see it in the way Brock’s face is all red. The way the veins in his brow pulse. A beating indication of his anger. This is a loss for him. It’s how he sees this. He’s lost his prize and turns on his heels to leave, shoving his way through the few people that block the exit. 

Bucky stares after him. For a few seconds, Steve wonders if maybe he’s hoping Brock will suddenly come back for him. Apologize and sweep him off his feet with sweet gestures and fairytale endearments. He’s holding his breath and when he finally lets it out, he looks very tired. As if whatever life was in him leaves with that exhale.

“You still willing to pay for me tonight?” Bucky asks. Eyes still on the last spot where Brock was. Voice dry and empty. “I could use a lift. And the money.”

Steve is already reaching for his wallet. He only has a hundred in cash. Only enough for an hour. Almost the whole car ride back to Brooklyn. He offers to charge the rest. Bucky doesn’t really seem to care. He just holds out his phone, takes Steve’s card, and puts the payment through. 

The drive back to Brooklyn is pretty much silent. Neither of them say a word as Steve drives through the first ever busy streets of Manhattan until pulling onto the parkway where late hours make the roads emptier than usual. The radio plays stale music and commercials since Steve doesn’t bother to change the station when one comes on. The only time he speaks is when asking Bucky to get in touch with Natasha. To tell her his change in plans. 

After texting his friend, Bucky goes right back to leaning his head against the window. Steve wants to comfort him. Tell him that everything is going to be alright. Now is not the time for words though. Not when Bucky’s likely trying to process everything that’s just happened. 

No matter how Steve feels about this Brock character, Bucky’s just been dumped by him. Even if it _was_ Bucky’s choice to stay with Steve--with _Steve_ , he chose to stay with _Steve_ \--Brock’s the one who walked away. Left him there with nothing but horrible words. Words that have the potential to latch onto Bucky’s soul. Sink in and become a part of him if left untreated. 

In a little under an hour, after dripping silence and uncomfortable fidgeting, Steve is pulling into his parking space. When he turns the car off, he just sits there. Hands on the steering wheel. An anchor of sorts. Like maybe if he keeps hold of it life won’t implode around poor Bucky. Only Bucky _does_ move. He pushes the door open and gets out of the car. Leans against it when the door’s closed again. From what Steve can see, he’s smoking a cigarette. 

Steve waits another few moments, hoping to give Bucky a little bit of space, before exiting as well. The night is cold. Crisp, winter breezes that slip over them like silk. Small patches of ice crack under Steve’s feets as he moves around the car and stands next to Bucky. 

The cigarette he’s been smoking is almost done. Orange embers slowly eating away at thin paper. Bucky takes one last drag from it before tossing it to the ground and squishing it with his toe. He looks up at Steve and gives him a crooked smile. His eyes are all glossy. Not necessarily from tears, but Steve wouldn’t doubt it. 

“I’m not stupid, y’know,” he mutters. Bucky rubs at his nose and goes on before Steve can say anything to such an unprompted statement. “I know what everyone thinks. That I thought Brock was just gonna magically fall in love with me or somethin’.” Bucky shakes his head and shrugs. “I knew that wasn’t ever gonna happen. I just…”

“You can’t help who you love, Buck.” Something Steve’s understanding more and more. “And I don’t think you’re stupid.”

Bucky nods and says he’s cold. Asks if they can head inside. Steve leads the way. So badly wants to wrap Bucky in his arms and promise him nothing but good things. Erase any hurt and pain that lingers on inside of him. 

“So, where’dya want me, sir?” Bucky asks the second Steve hangs their coats up. He’s undoing his tie and lets it hang loosely around his neck. “We already ate so…”

Taking a moment to look at him, Steve sees the costume that Bucky’s put on over his pain. An attempt to cover it with normalcy and familiarity. A bit of routine to quell the heartache.

“Do you want to talk, Bucky?” Steve asks. “About… what happened?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Aint nothing to talk about.”

More like nothing he _wants_ to talk about. Steve won’t force him. It wouldn’t be right to try and make him open up when he doesn’t want to. Or isn’t ready. It’d be like slashing open a wound that hasn’t even begun to heal. 

“You wanna change then?” Steve wonders. “I can give you some clothes.”

Bucky huffs. “Does it matter? They’re gonna come off anyway.”

Though Steve’s not quite sure of that, he doesn’t press the issue. He just gestures to the couch and waits for Bucky to kick his shoes off and get settled before joining him. As he sits, all the way on the other end of the couch, Bucky lifts his feet and sticks them under Steve’s legs. His toes wiggle as though trying to get Steve’s attention. So Steve glimpses over. Finds Bucky chewing on his lip. Letting his tongue slide back and forth and acting as though nothing out of the ordinary has happened. 

Steve puts a hand on Bucky’s knee and just turns the television on. He’s flipping through the channels, going through them a second time when Bucky pulls his legs away and sits up straight, once again grabbing Steve’s attention by slowly unbuttoning his dress shirt.

“Don’t,” Steve says. “Leave it on.”

Hands dropping to his lap, Bucky huffs. Disgruntled and annoyed, he leaves those few buttons undone and signs again.

“Why? Don’t you want me?”

He sounds so completely heartbroken at the idea of Steve saying no. Steve doesn’t want to say no, but…

“Not like this,” he tells him. 

Bucky twists his lips. “Like what?”

“You’re upset, Bucky. I’m not gonna…”

“I’m not upset,” he replies way too quickly to be believable. “I’m fine.”

“No you’re not,” Steve comments. Gentle and soft. “You’re not fine, baby. I’m not going to have sex with you when you’re in pain.”

“For fuck’s sake, Steve, I said I’m _fine_.” He spits it all out in a rush of anger. Face heating up and turning a bright shade of red. “The fuck you have me here for if we’re not gonna screw or somethin’?”

“Maybe I want your company,” Steve offers. “And _don’t speak_ to me that way, Bucky.”

All Bucky does in response is slam his arms against his chest. He grumbles something Steve doesn’t quite catch and shoves himself into the back of the couch. For a little while, Bucky just stays like that. Pissed off at Steve’s refusal to have sex with him and not making any secret of it.

Steve wants to explain how wrong he’d feel if he had sex with him now. While he’s in such a vulnerable state, even if Bucky doesn’t want to admit he’s in it. It would just feel like he was taking advantage of him. Steve could never look at himself the same if he did that. 

But the way Bucky’s behaving now, Steve _can’t_ explain it to him. Probably can’t explain anything. Because Bucky doesn’t want to hear it. Now he’s using anger to mask everything else. At the moment, Bucky’s so angry Steve could probably fry an egg on his head. He’s hurting though. _I don’t want him to hurt again_. Here he is, on Steve’s couch, hurting and pretending like he’s not. It’s so much easier to pretend not to be in pain than face it. Steve knows that. Understands it so well. Also knows that the pain doesn’t go away like that. Only lies dormant. A disease waiting quite patiently to spread and infect everything else.

After about twenty minutes of that stiff and rigid poster, of Bucky holding onto that scowl and bitter expression, he slowly brings his arms back down. Fiddling with his fingers, he starts stealing glimpses over at Steve out of the corner of his eyes. Maybe he’s waiting for Steve to say something. When Steve offers him nothing but silence, Bucky shifts a little closer. 

“Steve?” he whispers. As soon as the show--that one Bucky likes, _Adventure Time_ \--Steve’s left on goes to commercial. “I’m sorry.”

Steve reaches out to put his arm around him. The second Bucky sees the gesture, he’s moving into the hug. 

“That’s alright, baby.” Steve pecks the top of his head. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything to that. He just rests tensely against Steve’s side as they watch the television. It’s when the show is just coming to an end that Bucky tries again. Starts breathing kisses at the side of Steve’s neck. Steve allows him to do it. Even if only to give him something to take the edge off everything. A distraction of sorts. Bucky sucks a little harder when he gets to Steve’s collarbone. The enthusiasm picks up a bit when Steve sighs contently. 

As though thinking Steve’s changed his mind about the sex thing, Bucky straightens up more. Never taking his mouth off of Steve, he quickly throws himself over Steve’s lap.

“Bucky…”

Steve doesn’t get a chance to say anything else since Bucky catches Steve’s mouth with his. It’s always hard to think with Bucky kissing him. It’s even worse with him slowly rocking his hips against Steve’s. He’s dizzy. Muscles start to curl around bones as Bucky continues to kiss him. If these keeps up, Bucky just might wear him down. Steve can’t let that happen. Sure, it’ll feel great in the moment, but afterwards he’ll hate himself for it.

“Stop,” Steve grunts. Pulling away from Bucky with haste and urgency. “Stop, Bucky.”

Only that spurs him on even more and he gets out a quiet, little _mm-mm_. Bucky grinds hard against him. Pulls a groan from Steve’s lungs.

“Come on, sir,” Bucky purrs into his ear. Adding a quick kitten lick to it before going on. “Don’t you want to fuck your Bucky?”

Of course he does. Steve _always_ does. But he can’t. Not now. He won’t give in. So Steve grabs onto Bucky’s hips to still him.

“Red,” he states. “Red.”

Lips right at his neck, Bucky freezes. Steve can hear the quick intake of breath when the word reaches Bucky’s ears and clicks. He slowly eases back up so that he’s looking down at Steve. Totally thrown off by Steve’s use of their safeword, but not betraying the trust found within it. 

There’s a mix of confusion and betrayal in his eyes. Seems as far as he was concerned, that word was reserved mostly for his use alone. Having Steve say it now, with him doing something he’s done time and time again, appears to hurt his feelings.

“Did I do something wrong?” his small voice wonders. Truly and honestly confused.

Steve cups the side of his face. “No, baby. Of course not. But I told you. I’m not doing this tonight. Not after all you’ve been through.”

Eyebrows knit together, Bucky just stares at him. For about two heartbeats before clenching his jaw and grabbing handfuls of Steve’s shirt.

“Why can’t you just be like everyone else?” he growls. “Can’t you just… just…”

“Just what, Bucky?” Steve encourages. A part of him wants Bucky to say this out loud. So he can hear the words that have gotten lodged in his throat for himself. “I’m listening.”

Bucky makes a long, irritated sound through his clenched teeth. A moan and grunt and hiss all rolled together.

“You are so fucking frustrating sometimes!” he cries. “You’re not some fuckin’ saint y’know.”

“I never said I was,” Steve replies calmly. Keeps his hands at Bucky’s sides. A soft reminder that he’s there for him right now. 

“Yeah, well you sure fuckin’ act like it.” He slams his jaw shut and just seethes. “I mean, what’d you want from me, hm?” Bucky’s breaths have started backing up on him. He’s trembling, but still has that tight hold on Steve’s shirt. “You really wanna know how Brock was my first regular? How I was seeing him before Natasha even _knew_ what I was up to? That he use’ta wanna see me _all_ the time? What’s that gonna do?” He shakes his head and another rush of words come out. “What difference does it make if I tell you that he called me _everyday_ to make sure I was okay and we’d end up on the phone for _hours_? Or that he would send me flowers or gifts or sometimes _surprise_ me by just showin’ up to take me out? How’s it gonna help that you know I stopped chargin’ him after a few months? Cause I loved him so fuckin’ much that it just felt wrong? And that when I asked him to be my boyfriend he said no because,” His voice rises an octave as if to imitate the quote, “‘How would that look, Jamie? If my company found out I was dating a whore? You know how much you mean to me, Jamie, but I need to find a _real_ relationship.’ What does it matter if _every_ person I _tried_ to date after that freaked out on me? Just like he said they would!”

There’s a deep, dark flush to his skin. So much it even runs down his neck and chest. Bucky takes in a few gulps of air to go on with his outburst. 

“I know how the fuckin’ world _works_ , Steve. I told ya, I ain’t stupid! There ain’t no one worth dick that’s gonna want me while I’m doin’ this! No one’ll ever see me as anything but a whore if they know! It don’t matter how I feel about them or how hard I try for them or how good they treat me or how wonderful they make me feel. Sooner or later it’ll be the same thing over and over again! I ain’t doin’ it to myself again, Steve. _Never_ again. I promised myself I wouldn’t. I’m not goin’ through this anymore, Steve! I’m not! I swear… I… I…”

The first tear that falls from his chin lands on Steve’s shirt. Bucky stares at it for a second as though shocked by its presence. When he looks back up, his eyes are swimming with moisture. 

Steve doesn’t say a word. None would suffice after everything that Bucky’s just told him. The silent judgement he’s passed on himself. All the pain he’s been carrying inside rushing to the surface in one flood of emotion. Steve says nothing. He just brushes a hand along Bucky’s cheek. The moment he touches him, Bucky’s face crumples and those tears get the better of him. Steve opens his arms and Bucky falls into them. 

“Oh god…” Bucky sobs with his head pressed into the spot between Steve’s neck and shoulder. “I… Steve, I…” 

Everything he tries to say gets cut off by a rough breath and a broken sob. Words trapped inside no matter how hard he tries to get them out.

“It’s okay, baby,” Steve comforts. Holds him tight in his embrace. “Let it out. It’s okay.”

He just bawls. Wordless but so hard it sounds like it hurts. Tears soak into the collar of Steve’s shirt. They fall on his neck and drip down his skin and still Steve just lets him wail. Bucky’s shaking. Violently. His body trembles as he gasps and swallows roughly and cries some more. He keeps trying to wipe at his face. Clear away the mess he’s become. Not that it matters since he quite literally can’t get a grip. All the while Steve just allows him this time to cry and whispers words of comfort. Tells him it’s okay. He’s safe. Steve’s got him. 

It takes nearly a full hour, of painful gulps and jagged breaths, but eventually, Bucky’s trembling lessens and his sobs even out to the occasional hitchy inhale. 

“I… S-Steve… I…”

“Shh,” Steve pets a hand over his head. Does it again. Once more. “It’s okay.”

Though he’s still clinging to Steve, Bucky’s body seems to have lost most of its strength. He’s just there now. Hanging onto, but slumped over Steve. Just resting his head in that pillowed spot between neck and shoulder. 

“I keep… keep doing this…” he whimpers. “T-to you.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Just relax. Best you can. I’ve got you.” He swathes his arms around him again. “I won’t let you go.”

Bucky nods and holds on tighter. Whatever feeble grip he can manage in his state. 

“Hey,” Steve whispers. “Hold on to me. I’m going to take you into the bedroom.”

Barely even having the strength to pick his head up, Bucky doesn’t question Steve’s instructions. He just latches onto him as Steve rises to his feet with Bucky still in his arms. Those long legs of his wrap around Steve’s waist, and while he couldn’t do this for very long, he carries him into his bedroom. Places him gently on the bed. 

When he goes to lift away, Bucky clings onto him. Whimpers and shakes his head. Silently pleading with him not to go.

“It’s okay. I’m not… I’m not leaving. I’m just gonna go to the bathroom for a second. Get you a washcloth.”

The explanation is enough to get Bucky to untangle the grip he has around him. He wipes at his face. Tear-stained and puffy-eyed. The bottom of his nose is swollen and red and Bucky’s still trying to suck in the secretions leaking out. Before heading to the bathroom, Steve gives him the box of tissues from the nightstand. 

He’s only gone for as long as it takes for his bathroom sink to warm up some water for him and soak a cloth with it, but when he get back, there’re at least a dozen crumpled up tissues scattered on the bed next to Bucky. As soon as he sees Steve’s returned, he scrambles to pick them all up.

“Stop, stop.” Steve holds his hand out. “Leave that. It’s okay.”

Bucky glances up at him, a bunch of used tissues in his hands. He rubs at his nose and gives the tissues to Steve while Steve picks up the rest to toss in the garbage. Sitting down next to him, Steve runs the warm cloth over Bucky’s face. Gently under his eyes and nose. Down his cheeks and across his forehead. 

“Bucky? Can I ask you something?”

Bucky’s gaze has been on Steve this whole time. He opens his mouth to respond, but nods instead.

“Do you not like being called Bucky?”

Confusion wrinkles across Bucky’s brow. It only lasts for a moment, before smoothing out. He understands where the question’s come from.

“Brock said Bucky was a baby’s name. That I should’ve outgrown it by now. That’s why he… he’s the only one who ever called me Jamie.” He shrugs one shoulder. A gesture of acceptance. “I loved it,” Bucky admits gently. “Made me feel like I was all his. But… I love being called Bucky. My pop gave me that name. Kinda feels like the only person I know how to be.”

“So, then…” Steve carefully cups his hand under Bucky’s chin. Gets him to look at him again. “You should just be Bucky. No matter what anyone says. You be Bucky.” He leans in and presses a kiss to Bucky’s temple. “I like Bucky.”

Bucky reaches over and takes Steve’s hand. Gives it a squeeze. Maybe he understands what Steve means--that he shouldn’t have to be anyone but him to please anyone else--or maybe he doesn’t. Either way, he seem appreciative of the sentiment. 

“One more thing,” Steve says and immediately gets Bucky’s attention. “I don’t think you’re a whore, baby. I would never think that.”

There’s so much more he wants to say. Like how much he loves him. That he’d never do those things that Bucky’s so afraid of happening again. But he can’t. Bucky won’t believe him. Why should he? Experience has told him otherwise. Time and time again. The one person he’d wanted to trust had turned him against himself. Those afterwards had walked out on him. Bucky’s come to Steve with a mountain of heartache. Not forged in steel as he likes to present to the world, but made from flesh and bone. Durable and strong, but just as easily broken at the rest of the world. 

“Thank you, Steve,” Bucky whispers. Eyes closed. “But you will. Eventually.” He breathes out softly through parted lips and finds Steve’s eyes again. “It’s only a matter of time.”

Steve wants to promise that it’s not true. None of that. But he can’t. Not because there’s an inkling of truth to what Bucky thinks. That Steve will one day draw the same conclusion that others have. That Bucky’s undeserving of real love and compassion and companionship because he’s a sex worker. It’s not the sex that bothers Steve--well, not enough to not want to _be_ with him. It’s the thought of losing him to some monster looking for an easy target. Bucky lost to the world because one asshole who doesn’t value his life to be worth anything.

There would be no pity for him either. Steve can see the headlines. _Prostitute Murdered. Prostitute’s body found in dumpster. Prostitute… Prostitute… Prostitute… Prostitute…_

No mention of him being a student. Of his dreams to be a literary agent or how much he loves to read. His sense of humor would be left out as would the fierce loyalty that resides within him. Bucky’s smile would splash the front page once, so many people would blame him for being in the situation in the first place, and then he’d be yesterday’s news.

The thought is turning in his stomach. Leaves Steve sick. Hot air creeps into his lungs. A painful rush of illness that descends upon him like a sudden cloudburst. 

Beneath him, Steve feels the mattress move. It creaks a bit as Bucky shifts. Steve needs to breathe. Stay calm. Bucky’s still here. Nothing’s happened to him.

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice pierces through the thick haze that’s clogged Steve’s mind. “Are you okay? You… you look pale.”

He _should_ tell him he’s fine. That there’s nothing to worry about. He _should_ ask him if he needs anything. Maybe a glass of water. 

Instead, Steve finds strange, unthought of words tumbling off his tongue and out of his mouth. 

“Maybe you should stop.” He can’t believe his ears. Steve knows how rude that is. What it might sound like; Steve suggesting that Bucky’s work is something he should be shameful about. Horrified, Steve opens his mouth again and, for some reason, just keeps going. “What if you stopped doing this?”

“No.” Bucky just shakes his head. He doesn’t appear to be put off by Steve’s words. Then again, it’s possible that he’s grown used to such a response that it’s second nature to hear it. That’s worse, in Steve’s opinion. Much worse. “I can’t.”

“Why?” Steve asks. Out of genuine curiosity now. He wants to know Bucky. All of him. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me. Not if you don’t…” He clears his throat. Feels it tightening up on him. “Ah, cause, y’know, only if you want to.”

A pair of shoreline eyes peer up at him. They’re still a little wet and pink. But Bucky’s mouth quirks up in a crooked grin. Amused by something, it would seem. He breathes out a soft sigh through his nose and hums as though assessing whether or not he cares to answer Steve’s question. 

“My dad died,” he states. 

Voice ripping the silence to shreds with such a statement. Horrified, Steve feels his eyes growing large. 

“ _What_?”

“Oh I don’t mean…” Bucky actually chuckles. “No, I don’t mean recently. It was a long time ago. When I was eleven.” 

Steve’s not sure if it’s right to feel relief. After all, Bucky’s just told him his father is gone. Just because it was nine years ago doesn’t mean the pain is any less. That absence in his heart might still be just as strong as it was back then. Steve would know.

“I’m sorry,” he says, even though he hates to be apologized to whenever he tells anyone about Mama. What’s the right response to that? _It’s okay_? Cause… it’s not. Not at all. “What happened?”

“Hang on. I’ll get to that.” Bucky pulls his legs up on the bed. Plants his feet right in front of him and hugs his knees. He looks so incredibly small like that. So young and innocent. “That day, right? Me and Clint were playing. Cops and robbers or some bullshit. Maybe soldiers. I can’t remember. Somethin’ with guns though cause that’s what made me suggest going into my dad’s desk to get his gun.” 

This time, Steve can feel the blood draining from his face. Not like before when Bucky said he was pale. There’s no gradual fade from toned to completely ashen. Only Bucky stops there and smirks. 

“I didn’t shoot my dad, Steve,” he assures him. Sounds as though Steve’s misunderstanding of where this is headed amuses him in some dark, twisted way. “Don’t worry.”

“Sorry.” Steve manages to give him a weak snicker. “Go on.”

“So, yeah, uh, Pop was alway real serious about his gun. Made it fuckin’ clear we weren’t allowed anywhere near it. But he had just started taking me down to the range to teach me how to use it so I felt like a big shot cause I had used a gun before and Clint hadn’t.” Bucky pauses and sort of laughs to himself. At something most definitely not about the story at hand. “Jokes on me with that one. You know Clint’s, like, the best marksman ever? Okay, maybe not _ever_ , but he learned…” 

He rattles his head. Realizes he’s rambling and picks up with what he wants to tell Steve. 

“Sorry. Where was I?” He pulls his eyebrows together. “So, um, right, we broke the handle on the drawer he kept the case in. We had _just_ taken the case out when my dad walked in.” Bucky fights back something between a smile and a frown. Both happy by the memory and dismayed at the same time. “Pop never once lifted a finger to me, but fucking hell I really thought he was gonna give it to me that day. He didn’t though. Never even raised his voice. 

He just called my mom in and asked her to take Clint home. Pop was late for work, but he put the gun case up on the top shelf of his closet, took me to my room and told me to just think about what I’d done. At first I was thrilled. Thought, hell, I’d got off without nothing, right?” Bucky shakes his head. “Fuckin’ idiot I was. Right before he left he said… he told me…” His voice cracks slightly, “Pop told me he was disappointed in me. That, uh, that was the last thing he ever said to me. He was in an accident on the way home. Died on the way to the hospital.”

There’s pain in his voice. The memory now bringing on the all the sorrow it’s made from. Steve’s throat feels too tight. He can’t think of anything to say. Nothing comes to mind except those two ridiculous words. _I’m sorry_. 

“Bucky, I…”

“No, wait,” he interrupts. “You need to hear this so you’ll understand.” Understand? The reason he can’t stop his work? Is that what this story is all about? Steve means to ask, but Bucky continues. “See, I thought… I spent the whole year thinkin’ my dad died hating me. I had even worked out this whole speech that night, y’know? To apologize for what I’d done. That I was gonna make him proud but then he was gone and all I kept thinking was that he’d never be proud of me again. It was… bad. Really bad. I was mad at everyone and everything. It hurt so much, Steve.” He pulls once on his ear before fiddling with his fingers. “I had just started middle school when I found something that made the pain go away.”

The night tenses around them when Bucky pauses again. Outside, clouds pass over the moon that, until then, could be seen clearly through the bedroom window. There’re holiday lights set up in the windows of the building across the street. Twinkling shimmers of hope and happiness. None that reaches in. Not right now. 

“Bucky, you don’t have to…”

“Please, Steve,” Bucky whimpers. “I want you to know.” 

Steve studies Bucky’s face for second. So open and pleading. He needs to get this out. 

“Okay. Go on.”

Bucky sighs, not with discontent, but resolve, and does. 

“There were these two guys, Alex and Victor, who went to my school. I happened to bump into ‘em one afternoon in the bathroom. They were smokin’ in there. I didn’t think much of it cause that wasn’t so unusual of them. But they had a water bottle, too. One of those sixteen ounce ones, and Alex asked if I wanted some. I said no, but then he called me a pussy or some equally gross thing and I just… _god_ everything was so fucked up so I just took it from him and swigged some down and it… wasn’t water.”

Sure. Steve gets it. These kids might be younger than him, but the same old tricks were still in play years after Steve left school. 

“Vodka?”

He’s answered with a self-deprecating laugh. Bucky waves his hand at him as though saying _you guessed it_. 

“First drink I ever had and I spit it out all over me.” He tilts his head and does that laugh again. “Alex and Victor thought it was hilarious. And I… laughed. Too. I laughed cause I didn’t know what else to do and it felt _good_. It felt _good_ to laugh. Dunno what class I was supposed to go back to, but I never made it. Things got worse after that. I drank all the time. _All_ the time. It was the only thing that made the pain go away, but it turned me into this piece of shit, _mean_ sonuvabitch.” 

Still in that same position, hugging his knees to his chest, Bucky lowers his face so that it’s hidden among arms and legs. Like he doesn’t want to look up for this part. 

“I rarely went to class and I ditched my real friends and I got into fights. Hell, I started more than half of ‘em. Treated my mom like dirt, and Becky…” He trails off to another whimper. “Oh god I was so horrible to Becky. Told her my dad didn’t love her cause she wasn’t really his.” Bucky turns his head to the side and Steve can see his eyes dampened with tears again. “She’s adopted. My sister. Did I ever tell you that?”

“No,” Steve whispers. “I didn’t know that.”

“She is. So I told her things like that.” Bucky’s suddenly picking his head up. Eyes frantic like he’s panicked about something. “S’not true, Steve. I… I never really thought that. I just…”

“You were angry,” Steve says. He gets it. The last thing Bucky’s father said to him had festered and ate away at his insides. All he wanted was for others to feel the same pain he did. “It’s okay, baby. I know you didn’t mean it.”

Bucky’s face scrunches as he puts his head back down. He’s still looking at Steve when he says, “I hope she doesn’t remember that. I really do. I love my sister so much. Um…” He squeezes his arms tighter as though he means to give himself a hug. “Mom took me to therapists after the cops brought me home a few times. For shit like being in the park after dusk and stuff. I never got arrested. Damn fucking lucky.” That last part, Bucky mostly mutters to himself. “I wouldn’t talk to them. The doctors. Never told anyone about the thing with my dad. Things changed when… when… fuck, um, I remember being at a party. I was gonna be fifteen soon so it was cold. I know I got into a fight or something on my way home or my way somewhere, who knows. Cause I woke up in the hospital three days later.”

“Holy shit,” Steve breathes. Needs to reach out and put his hand on the back of Bucky’s neck. Physical contact. He’s right here. Safe. “Did anything…”

“I was too wrecked to remember a damn thing. Couldn’t do shit about nothing. So no, no one was ever caught.” Bucky shrugs as though this fact really doesn’t bother him. Not in the least. “But… I was in real bad shape. _Real_ bad. Doctors weren’t sure if I was gonna make it at first. Internal bleeding and shit. Broken ribs and collarbone, bruised lung, concussion… lemme tell you, I was hurtin’ somethin’ real bad when I woke up. _But_ … Clint came to see me. Everyday. Not Alex or Victor, they didn’t come once. But Clint did.

“First day he did he told me he missed me, but that he wasn’t gonna stick around and watch me kill myself. That shit hurt, cause Clint was my best friend, and I barely even spoke to him in like two years. I was such a shit. I had to stay in the hospital for rehab for six months. Best six months that ever happened to me.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-ha. Finally started talking to those therapists. I opened up to my mom about what happened with Pop. She broke down cryin’, cause you know what she had?”

There’s a pause there, a definite break for Steve to say something. He asks what and Bucky reaches into his back pocket for his wallet. Takes something out of it and hands it to Steve. Looking back at him from a small wallet-sized picture is little Bucky. Two front teeth missing. Big grin on his face. Eyes all sparkles as though someone’s making him laugh. 

“Turn it over,” Bucky whispers.

He does. There are two words scrawled across the back. They say _my pride_. 

“Becky’s says _my joy_ ,” Bucky explains to him. “Pop was holding them when he died in the ambulance.” He takes the picture back and holds it with so much tender care before putting it home in his wallet. “Took a little while, but I finally stopped thinking he hated me. Just… shitty timing. But I started doing better. Stopped drinking. Stopped hanging around Alex and Victor. I apologized to Clint and my other friends I ditched and…” He smiles to himself. “Well Clint made me grovel for a while. Dickhead. Not really though. He was just fuckin’ with me. I got my grades back up and I helped around the house. Y’know, damage control. I had a lot to make up for.”

Almost a happy ending. There has to be more to it though. Because Steve can’t figure out what any of this has to do with what Bucky’s chosen to do to make money.

“There’s more,” Steve guesses. “Isn’t there?”

Bucky stretches his lips and sighs. “Mom got a job with this really exclusive private school on Long Island. She’s a math teacher.” That’s almost comical. Math teacher parent with an English majoring son. “But she was offered the position of head of the whole department. She was gonna commute. Never even considered moving. But when I went out there once with her, there was this open house and we went in for laughs. But you should have seen her. She fell in love with the place and I knew it was better for us to move. So we did. Mom _always_ wanted a nice big house. Wrap around porch and big backyard. We have an in-ground pool and jacuzzi back there and everything. Everything she hoped for. But… my senior year? The _day_ I got my acceptance letters to both Columbia and NYU? The school announced cutbacks. Mom wasn’t tenured. She got cut.”

Bucky goes on to tell him how his mother promised that everything would be fine. At first he believed her. That is, until he came home one day and saw all the unpaid bills. The threatening letters. The bank wanting to take the house back. His mother had used her savings account as a downpayment, Bucky explains. What she’d been able to save up between buying the house and then, had already been spent up. The severance package she got was practically nothing and unemployment didn’t cut it. At all. 

“I knew I needed to do something.”

“So you thought you’d become a hooker?” Steve asks. Just something he has to say and it must be okay since it make Bucky laugh.

“No, punk.” He snorts. “I actually went on craigslist. I was gonna sell some of my shit. My ps3 and xbox and camera. Knew I wouldn’t get that much for ‘em, but it was better than nothing. But I… somehow I ended up on the personals. Saw an ad that…” Bucky folds his lips and raises his eyebrows. An expectant look. Right. It was an ad for some sort of service that he now provides. “I figured it was an easy way to make some money. I’d had sex before. No big deal. So I put an ad up for myself. Got a response in an hour. Hopped a train to the city and sucked a guy off for a hundred bucks. Easiest money I’d ever made.” His voice drops and Bucky admits, “I cried the whole way home.”

Steve moves closer to him when he says that. All he can think of is Bucky all alone on that train back to his home. Frightened and confused. He puts an arm around him and Bucky doesn’t protest. In fact, he even leans against him.

“It got easier after that first time. Then it was just sorta… normal. I got a couple of regulars and it just became… my job.” Bucky sighs. “I told my mom I got a job in the city and that’s how I was able to help out. I hated lying to her, but I moved in with Clint that summer anyway so it was just a few months. She’s working in public school now but it doesn't nearly cut it cause…”

“We live in the world we do,” Steve figures.

A world with a shitty economy and where bad things happen to good people. Loved ones who get snatched away in the blink of an eye. None of this is fair. Not to anyone. Not to Bucky.

“Yeah,” he agrees and lifts his head. “You see, Steve? I can’t stop. Not now. I told ya once, this ain’t something I planned or want forever. Not until at least after I graduate and get a job,” Bucky scoffs. Knows as well as Steve how difficult that is nowadays. “Hopefully one that pays me more than eight bucks an hour. Or even if my mom finally gets a job that she damn well deserves. But I won’t _ever_ let my family down again. _Never_. Mom’s not gonna lose her house and Becky’s gonna get the same damn education I did and I’m gonna take care of them just like Pop would. I’m gonna be there for them this time, Steve.”

Admiration surges through Steve’s whole body. Warming it as it tingles on through his veins. All of this is Bucky’s choice. By his own virtue, he’s the one who’s made this decision. On his own. This is not something he _needs_ to be doing. There’s no desperation in his life like the media would have the world believe is necessary for anyone to do this. Bucky’s chosen this, has had his heartbroken by those who will never understand him because of it. He’s given up on that piece of himself, given it away all in the hopes of doing right by his family.

Part of the world sits on Bucky’s shoulders. He never complains. Bucky simply accommodates accordingly for the extra weight. Finds ways to make it work and not let it drag him down, down, down. Bucky might not be forged from steel, but he’s still resilient in so many beautiful ways. A shimmer in the darkness. Exquisite by every right.

Somehow, Steve’s fallen even more in love with him. 

“I understand, Bucky,” Steve says. And what he means by that is _I love you, Bucky_. 

Lips find Bucky’s cheek and trail down his neck. To the top of his shoulder. Steve presses harder. So the skin under the thin fabric of Bucky’s dress shirt can feel the kiss even more. Those few buttons are still undone. Tie still slacked around his neck. 

Steve slips fingers between the opening of his shirt. Let’s his mouth become reacquainted with the softness of Bucky’s clavicles. Gently, he kisses along both of them. He sees the marks that are there. More than likely a courtesy of Brock. Steve wants to rid Bucky of them. Of that physical reminder of his broken heart. 

Differently this time. Steve takes it slow. Lavishes kisses all over the area. Sucks in sweet, gentle motions. Tongue swirling over each spot. 

Bucky’s head falls back. He’s released several contented sighs. Even hummed a bit at the sensation. His hand has found its way to the back of Steve’s head. Keeping Steve tucked close to him. Whimpers _Steve_ over and over. 

By the time Bucky’s coated in so many kisses and new marks, gingerly coaxed to the surface by each careful work of Steve’s mouth, there’re beads of sweat dotting the edge of his hairline. And more tears. Silently rolling down the sides of his face. Little bits of glistening moisture that leave trails in their wake. Steve brushes his thumb across Bucky’s cheeks. Wipes what remains away. 

Steve leans in to get himself a kiss. He feels Bucky work his lips against his and then freeze when his tie is being slid out from under the collar of his shirt. Bucky gives a little, excited gasp, but Steve shakes his head at the assumption.

“Not what you think.” Steve kisses him again. Just once. “Not tonight, Buck. I’m not going to fuck you, baby.”

First making that disgruntled face--that cute one now, no longer angry or bitter--Bucky sighs. The expression clears under the gaze of Steve’s watchful eye. Bucky nods in agreement. 

“Okay,” he whispers. “I get it. Not tonight.”

“Right.” But Steve’s fingers still go to open his shirt the rest of the way. He keeps his eyes locked with Bucky as the confusion swims around in them. “You trust me?”

“I do.” Bucky answers, and transports Steve through time. To a place where they’re both in tuxes. The start of two lives as one. 

So deep. Steve is in so deep. With this kid who trusts him with his physical well-being but never his heart. 

Steve finishes undoing the last few buttons. He slips Bucky’s shirt off of him. Lets it fall to a pile by their feet. 

“Lay back,” he instructs. Starts unhooking the buckle of Bucky’s belt as soon as he’s on his back. Listens without question. “Lift up,” Steve tells him right as Bucky goes to pick his hips up on his own, so that Steve can shimmy his slacks off. Boxer briefs included. They all join his shirt. “Scoot back. Just to the edge of the pillows.”

The legs that had been dangling off the end of the bed are now flat against the mattress. He’s so beautiful. Bucky. Long legs and arms. Wrapped in such succulent, delicate skin. That has goosebump springing forward when Steve runs a hand along Bucky’s stomach. 

Bucky’s not hard. Not even semi-hard, but not flaccid either, his cock nestled between his legs. He’s watching Steve intently. Eyes never leaving him, even when Steve crosses the room to switch the lights off. 

There’re three candles on Steve’s dresser. Came in the housewarming basket that Betty made for him. He lights all three of them and hears Bucky chuckle.

“Are you trying to seduce me, Mr. Rogers?”

Steve is still in the middle of an eye roll when he turns back around with two of the lit candles in his hands. He scoffs a small laugh and places a candle on each of the nightstands. At one of them, he opens the top drawer. Where he keeps a small collection of bedroom related items. Lube, condoms, magazines, a few DVDs that haven’t been watched since the internet explosion. And the bottle of massage oil that Steve takes out. 

California may not have panned out the way Steve had hoped--then again, he’s still not sure what he was looking for out there anyway--but he did learn quite a few tricks. Call him a jack of all trades. Maybe he never became a licensed masseuse, but he’s learned how to deliver a pretty damn good massage. 

“Roll onto your stomach. Relax, okay?” Steve says. Bucky’s eyeing the bottle he’s taken out. “And… traffic lights. Still. If you don’t like it, just say red and I’ll stop.” He doesn’t want Bucky to feel obligated to do this. Just in case it’s a bit too personal. But he simply gives his okay and Steve sits down at Bucky’s side and squeezes some oil on his hands. It’s warm to the touch. “You can close your eyes. If that’s more comfortable. I want you to feel good, baby. You deserve to feel good.”

Bucky chooses to keep his eyes open. Watches Steve as he starts with his shoulders. The oil slicks up his skin easily. Makes moving and kneading his fingers into Bucky’s muscles a simple task. 

“Are you cold?” Steve asks.

“Mm-mm.” Bucky replies. Eyes slipping shut as Steve’s hands work their way across his back. “Oh my god…”

His reaction to the massage has Steve chuckling. He tells Bucky to let him know if he gets cold so he can give him a blanket. Also tells him to stay still when he starts to squirm a bit. As if growing impatient and trying to get Steve’s hands to get on more of his body. 

But Steve keeps a nice, steady pace. Doesn’t want to rush through this. Down his neck and arms. Over his hands and all ten fingers. All along his back and sides. Both legs. Buttocks. He told Bucky he wants him to feel good. He means it. It takes just over thirty minutes for him to reach his feet. Bucky tenses when Steve picks his right one up. Likely worried of being tickled. Which Steve has no intention of doing. Not on purpose anyway, but Bucky’s feet are extremely sensitive. So Steve’s careful with them. The second he starts rubbing his thumb into the pad of it though, Bucky’s melting into the mattress. Steve’s oiled fingers even press between each of Bucky’s toes and never once does he accidentally tickle him. 

Once Steve places Bucky’s left foot back on the bed--there’d been less worry when he picked that one up--he tries to ease him over to his back. Only he’s met with resistance. Bucky whines a little and when Steve asks what’s wrong, he turns his head just enough so that Steve can see the corner of his eye. Looking at him like he’s embarrassed about something. 

“What’s the matter, Buck?” Steve chuckles. “Do you want me to stop? Just say--”

But Bucky starts to shake his head. Makes a disgruntled noise deep in his throat before rolling over like Steve wants. Which reveals why he was so hesitant. He might not be fully erect, but he’s more than even semi-hard now. 

“M’sorry,” Bucky mutters. 

“For what?” Steve’s snickering as he sits down next to him. “You can’t help being turned on by me,” he teases. “I’m a huge turn on. I know.”

Bucky leans his head back and scoffs an exaggerated groan, breaking off into a moan when Steve slides his hands across his chest. Pushing into tense muscles and draining all the fight right out of Bucky. He melts right back into the mattress as Steve continues with his massage. 

As he works lower and lower, Steve can feel Bucky starting to squirm again at his touch. Steve goes down his legs, and as he works to his inner thighs, Bucky starts holding in tiny whimpers. Steve flicks his gaze to him. 

“Sorry sorry!” he says. “I--”

Steve cuts him off by slipping his hand along Bucky’s cock. Mouth dropping open, it sounds like a few breaths get stuck in Bucky’s throat. 

“Color, baby?”

“зеленый…” Bucky breathes.

Steve knows that one. Green. 

“I only meant that I wasn’t going to fuck you,” Steve explains. “Doesn’t mean I’m not going to make you feel nice and good.”

Licking his lips, Bucky might try to nod in response, but can’t quite complete the action as Steve paces his hand up and down Bucky’s cock. Steve draws all his movements out. Takes his time dragging his hand all the way up and then back down. Leisurely strokes that having Bucky trying to thrust up into his hand more. 

“Be still, sweet boy,” Steve instructs. “Be good for me.”

There’s a little whine at that, but Bucky stills his hips. Plants his body firmly against the bed.

“Y-yes, sir,” he whispers.

“Good boy.”

Eyes rolling into the back of his head, Bucky starts sucking in deep, deep breaths. 

For a good twenty minutes, Steve keeps it nice and steady. Long, smooth strokes. Bucky’s making breathy noises the whole time. Little _uh, uh, uh_ sounds instead of his normal grunts and groans. It’s when his body begins to quiver under Steve’s hand that he increases everything. Pressure, speed, motions. 

His own erection pulses hard between his legs. Steve ignores it. Knows it’s there, but it means nothing to him. Not now. Not with Bucky breathing out such pretty sounds. Steve wants this moment and this moment alone. To relish in it. Him just pleasuring Bucky. Bucky allowing such a change from their normal activities. Steve’s not going to overthink it. That can wait. This right now, this breath of time that might stand out against so many others, is the only place he wants to be. With Bucky. It’s intoxicating. 

“S-Steve…” Bucky pants.

“Whenever you need to,” Steve replies. “Come when you want.”

“о Боже.”

Bucky’s voice comes out like a feather. Soft and gentle as it floats on a springtime breeze. Slipping into Russian even in just this. As though Steve’s touch alone flicks that switch inside of him. Steve can dream. 

Steve knows Bucky’s close. Those noises come out quicker. Rushed and shorter, like his body needs to rid itself of the sound. His back arcs when he comes. Steve’s name slipping off his tongue as he spills out all over Steve’s hand. Bucky’s still coming when his hand is suddenly grabbing at Steve’s shirt. He yanks him down to pull him in for a kiss. Fevered. Almost frantic. As though Bucky thinks this is the last kiss to ever be had. They’re still kissing as his body simmers down. And Bucky breaks into a giggle. 

Pulling away, Steve just looks at him. Watches Bucky’s face as he smiles and then shakes his head. The faint ghost of a laugh still there.

“I dunno why I’m laughing,” he says. “Thank you, Steve.”

Steve kisses the top of his head. 

“You’re welcome?” It comes out as a question. Steve’s not sure what he’s done to be thanked for. “Why’re you thanking me, Buck?”

Bucky shrugs. Says he doesn’t know and seems to try to come up with an answer only to be stumped again.

“That’s okay, sweetheart. My good boy.”

That washcloth he used for Bucky’s face earlier is still on the nightstand. Steve grabs it and cleans off his hand. Folds it twice and then cleans off Bucky as well. 

“Steve? Sir?”

“Yeah?”

Bucky’s looking at him with a question in his eyes. Shyness all around him. Steve knows that look. He doesn’t just have a question. He wants to ask for something. Something that pulls out the bashful side of him. 

“Can you… say it again?”

“Say what?” Steve asks, though needs no real clarification. “That you’re my good boy?” He pets a hand over Bucky’s head when he whimpers and nods. “You’re a good boy, baby. My good boy.”

Smile on his face, Bucky hums and leans his head back on the pillows. That’s when Steve notices the time. It’s so late. And the time he’s paid for is already up. Bucky notices a few seconds later. 

“Crap,” he mutters. “I gotta go. Nat’s probably waiting for me.”

But he moves slowly. Almost like he doesn’t want to be moving at all. He’s getting dressed, buttoning up his shirt as Steve is hit all at once with what’s happened tonight. Not only did Bucky choose him over Brock--and the heartache that’s followed--he shared so much of him. Told Steve such intimate details of his life. 

“Are you gonna be okay?” Steve asks. “I mean…” He stutters when Bucky glances over at him. “Stupid question. Of course you’re not okay. I just…”

“I’m okay, Steve,” Bucky says. “Or… I will be. This was, the thing with Brock, it was gonna happen eventually.”

“You know it’s okay to hurt, don’t you, Bucky? It’s… you don’t always have to be so strong.”

“Yeah. I guess.” Bucky shrugs as he throws his tie around his neck. “Fuck, I really gotta make some money tomorrow.”

He says that almost under his breath. Steve’s not sure if he’s supposed to hear it or not. 

“Why? Is everything okay?”

“Um…” Bucky folds his lips in. “My sister’s tuition? It’s kinda high. I could’ve paid off a few months with Brock’s money. I was sorta counting on it.”

“Did he pay you more?” 

“Oh. Well, he paid for the whole weekend. Till 8pm tomorrow. S’when he’s leaving for the airport. Twenty five hundred. So yeah. I gave him back more than half of it.”

That’s probably what Brock meant when he said Steve’s never paid as much as he has. The whole weekend. Two days with Bucky and Bucky gave that all up for Steve. Perhaps Steve being a bit naive in his thinking. Bucky didn’t do it for Steve. He did it for himself. Of that he’s certain. 

“Thank you, Steve,” Bucky’s saying when they’re at the door. He’s putting his jacket on and trying to text at the same time. “For tonight. Thanks for being there and, y’know, like, listening to me whine.”

Steve clicks his tongue. He takes hold of Bucky’s hands and kisses his knuckles. 

“You weren’t whining, baby,” Steve assures him. “And if you need anything, you can call me. I hope you know that.”

“Yeah?” That signature smirk of his pulls up on his lips. “Thanks. Have I ever told you how cool you are?”

“You can say it more.” Steve snickers. He opens the door to let him out. And then slams it closed before Bucky even takes a step towards it. “Stay.”

The thought hadn’t even had a chance to register before Steve was damn near demanding it. For Bucky to stay. He’s staring right at the door. The passageway that always lets Bucky out of his life again.

“What?” Bucky questions. “What’re you--”

“Stay with me. Tonight.” He rips his gaze away to focus on Bucky. That much Bucky deserves. To look into his eyes when he asks this. “I’ll pay you the money you lost. Please?”

Bucky’s just staring at him. He blinks a few times as though having trouble comprehending Steve’s request.

“You… that… I mean, that would cover tomorrow, too,” he answers. Sounds perplexed and completely caught off guard. “You really want to spend money on me for that long?”

Steve would spend a lot more than that for a chance to spend that much time with him. To spoil Bucky a bit. Pamper him. Make him feel like he’s the most important person in the world. 

“Yeah. If that’s okay with you. You can… I can set up the couch for you.” Only because he knows damn well that Bucky’s not going to let Steve give up his bed for him. “If you’d be uncomfortable, you know.”

For a few moments, Bucky continues on staring at him. Like he’s still unsure of what’s being asked of him. Uncertainty flashes across his face just as he drops his eyes. His feet shuffle along Steve’s carpet. 

“Okay.”

At first, Steve can’t even be sure he heard that. Bucky’s answered so softly it can barely even be called a whisper. 

“O-kay? You mean, you’ll stay?”

Instead of answering that, Bucky makes a phone call. To Natasha. Tells her he’s going to be spending the night at Steve’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, welcome back! My sincerest apologies for the long wait between updates lately. I promise I really _am_ trying as hard as I can to get these chapters up as soon as possible. Please don't ever think the fic is abandoned. It would take a tragedy for me to do that ((same applies for [Of Broken Dreams](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2421641/chapters/5358368) for anyone reading that)). For everyone who hasn't jumped ship on me, I thank you so much for your patience and continued interest in this story!
> 
> So this chapter would have gone up earlier in the week, but for reasons ((you know who you are)) I was going to keep add more to it. But that got me to a word count of 44k ((with more to go)) and because of that the second half started lacking in areas in an attempt not to cram too much in. Which means? Yeah, I've cut this one in half to. If you've noticed, I've now added at least one extra chapter.
> 
> But yeah, so for anyone starting or has started summer vacation, groovy!! Have an awesome vacation! Anyone graduating, congratulations!! Anyone going to proms or dances or BBQs, etc. have an great and safe time!!
> 
> Okay, but I do have some visuals for you this time around. They aren't gifs this time, but just images of how I see them in my head sometimes. 
> 
> So this is sorta how I see Bucky when he gives that cute, shy smile. 
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> Then all dressed up with Brock
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> And a random day at school, but really, how _wouldn't_ he turn heads?
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> This is sorta how I see Steve whenever Bucky comes into the room
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> And just goofing around with anyone
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> I dare you to try not ripping his shirt off with your mind. Can you blame Bucky for always asking him to take his shirt off??
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> So there ya have it! I really hope you enjoyed! Once again, I really am sorry for how long it's been taking me to update. I do hope that you continue sticking with me! :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> major shout outs to my betas [touchyourblood](http://touchyourblood.tumblr.com/)and [Stephrc79](http://Stephrc79.tumblr.com/)!!

“I’ll get you some comfy clothes.” Steve’s leading him to the bathroom. Trying to contain the excitement rushing through him. Bucky. Staying. All night. All day. For a lot of money, sure, but he said yes. Steve’s ready to continue to the bedroom to grab some clothes when Bucky makes a noise. Like the start of a sentence that he gobbles back down. “Is that okay?”

“What?” Bucky blinks a few times before catching up to what Steve’s asking. “Oh yeah. Yeah, clothes. That’s good.”

Steve takes those few steps back to him. Puts a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and rubs a bit.

“Hey, Bucky, if you really don’t want to stay…”

“No!” He shakes his head and grabs onto the wrist right by his shoulder. “That’s not… it…”

Unable to get out what he wants, Bucky’s taken to looking at his feet. He shifts his weight from side to side and scratches at the back of his neck.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

He looks nervous, and now Steve is second-guessing himself. If Bucky really doesn’t feel right staying here, or if it’s just too much -- maybe it feels like he’s breaking that promise to himself he’s adamant about never breaking again -- whatever the reason, Steve’ll be damned if he makes him stay.

“It’s just…” Bucky grunts a little. Not at Steve, but to himself. “I was wondering if maybe, um, if you’d…”

Moving that hand from Bucky’s shoulder to under his chin, Steve gently takes hold and lifts. Has Bucky look up at him, even if those eyes keep avoiding Steve’s.

“Whatever you want to ask, you can ask. It’s always okay to ask, Buck. _Always_. I won’t be mad.”

Lip under his teeth, Bucky nods and tries again. A few times in fact until he finally gets it out.

“Just, maybe you can, or, like, wouldn’t mind giving me…” He swallows hard. Preparing for rejection. “A bath?”

Steve’s both surprised by the request and then not surprised by it at all. Hearing Bucky ask for it initially sends a shock through his body. A shock that melts through his bones. That’s marked on Bucky’s list as ‘yes’--and Steve doesn’t need to check since he has the whole thing memorized. 

“Never mind,” Bucky mutters as he begins to escape into the bathroom. Face red with embarrassment. “I…”

“Sure, Buck.” Steve steps into the bathroom with him and moves right for the bathtub. He fiddles with the water a bit before asking Bucky to tell him if the temperature’s good. “This okay?”

Still dressed and standing there with a stunned look on his face, Bucky takes in a deep breath and starts to come over. Doesn’t get more than one step.

“You really don’t… _mind_?” he asks.

“Mind?” Steve holds an arm out. Bucky doesn’t move. “No, baby. I don’t mind. I _want_ to do things like this for you. I just didn’t think _you’d_ …” He trails off and takes a different approach. “All you ever have to do is ask. The worst thing that’ll happen is I might say no.”

Bucky doesn’t really respond to that other than smiling softly and then shedding his clothes. Steve helps him into the tub, rinses him off with the showerhead first, and then lets the water fill up so he can bathe Bucky. 

Sitting in the tub, water rising around him, Bucky doesn’t really look up at Steve. He just lets his gaze land upon the water as Steve grabs a washcloth and soaks it before squeezing it over Bucky’s back. 

The first few drops upon his skin make Bucky shudder. His body tensing a bit as Steve takes to bathing him. For a second, Steve questions himself. 

“You okay?” he asks as he brings the washcloth away. 

“Yes,” Bucky whispers. Shifts a bit and tries to look up at Steve but can’t quite do it. “Please, don’t stop.”

So he doesn’t. Steve runs the cloth over Bucky several times until he can feel his body starting to relax. Steve is reaching for his soap when Bucky chuckles. 

“You use Dove?” he teases. Bites back a smile when Steve narrows his eyes at him.

“You think I’m too _manly_ to use it?” Steve jokes. “Besides.” He shrugs. “How else would I get such smooth, _silky_ skin?”

Bucky laughs and swipes some of the water away from his face as Steve goes back to washing him. Hands full of soap, Steve rubs them along Bucky’s back and down his shoulders. He’s gentle when lifting his arms to soap up his sides and turns Bucky’s head carefully as he gets his neck. 

It’s then, with Bucky’s chin in his hand, that Steve feels his eyes on him. Bucky’s watching him. Closely. He looks worried. It’s not right out on the surface for Steve to see, but it’s in the crease of his brow and the pull at his mouth. As though waiting for some sign that something bad is about to happen. Like maybe Steve’s lulling him into a false sense of security just to pull the rug out from under him. 

“Hi there,” Steve whispers. “You doing okay?”

“Mhm.” Bucky smiles and then licks his lips. “Just waiting for the exfoliation to set in.”

Washcloth at the side of the tub, Steve takes it and squeezes it right over Bucky’s head. Fast enough that Bucky has no time to prepare for the water that trickles over the front of his face. 

“Steve!” He giggles and spits out what liquid got into his mouth. “You punk.”

“Yeah, yeah.” 

He leans over the side of the tub and plants a kiss on Bucky’s wet head. Pulls some moisture off with his lips and makes Bucky freeze again.

“S-sorry,” Steve apologizes. He’s not really sure what he did to cause such a reaction, but he certainly doesn’t want Bucky feeling uncomfortable. “I didn’t--”

“It’s fine,” Bucky interrupts him with a shrug. “You’re payin’.”

That’s not like the other times Bucky’s spouted such a line. He says it playfully and there’s a smirk curved up on his mouth. There might be other things floating around in his mind, but that’s all that comes up.

Steve rinses Bucky off with the cloth as well. He’ll rinse him down completely when they’re done, but for now, the washcloth will do. Once he’s finished with that, Steve washes Bucky’s hair. Whatever styling product he’s used tonight doesn’t make his hair stiff or hard. It’s easy for Steve to get his fingers through it, kneading them into Bucky’s scalp and executing some of those massage skills again. 

The shampooing has Bucky tilting his head back. Moving it into Steve’s fingers so that Steve has full access to everywhere he wants touched. Bucky’s pretty much purring by the time Steve’s ready to wash the shampoo out. Bucky even whines a bit when Steve pulls his hands away. 

Steve chuckle. “We can do this again sometime. Don’t worry.” He’s got the showerhead down and turns it on. “Now keep your head back.”

Bucky listens beautifully. Just leans his head back and keeps his eyes closed as Steve uses his hand to shield his face from getting water poured all over it.

That’s what Steve will do for Bucky. Whenever he can. Whenever Bucky will let him. He’ll keep him safe. Take care of him. Protect him in any way he can. A hand to shield water from his face. A pair of arms to keep the loneliness away. Ears to listen to everything he has to say. Maybe one day Bucky will open up to wanting more from Steve. It’s doubtful, considering all that Bucky’s told him about tonight. His fears and insecurities. Doubt that anyone can see him for who he is rather than what he is. 

“Stand up, baby,” Steve murmurs when the shampoo’s finished running out of his hair. “Let me rinse you off completely.”

“Kay.”

Steve offers his hand to help him to his feet. He takes care to be gentle with this, too. With getting any excess soap off his body. He guides Bucky this way and that as the water washes over his skin. 

When he’s finished, Steve helps Bucky out of the tub and wraps him in the biggest towel he has. He uses a smaller one to rub over the top of his head and get his hair a little dryer. A couple of times, Steve works the towel over his head so quickly that it brings a laugh out of Bucky. Every time. 

“Come on.” Steve guides Bucky towards his bedroom, towel still wrapped around him, so that he can change. “I’ll get you those clothes.”

Bucky waits right where Steve’s left him by the bed. All snuggled up in the huge, fluffy towel as Steve rummages through his drawers. Tries to find something that might fit him. 

“Here you go.” He puts them on the edge of the bed. “These should be okay. I hope.” Bucky just looks up from the sweats and shirt and smiles at him. “Um, I’ll go… set up the couch. For you. Unless…” His eyes trail over the bed.

“M’not making you give me your bed, dude,” Bucky mumbles. “The couch is fine.”

Actually, Steve had been hoping that maybe Bucky wouldn’t be opposed to sharing. But that clearly hasn’t even crossed his mind. Or maybe it’s crossing a line not meant to be crossed. Not for Bucky anyway. So much has gone on already. A night of broken pieces and new beginnings. 

“Alright. Get dressed and then come to the living room. When you’re ready.”

Steve ducks out of the room. Feeling foolish for some reason. As Bucky changes into Steve’s clothes, Steve makes up the couch for him. 

Fresh sheets over the cushions. Nice cushy pillow with a recently washed pillowcase. Extra blankets just in case Bucky needs them. 

“So you’re… you’re sure you’re okay with this, Steve?” Bucky questions when he pads out of the bedroom. “Payin’ me all this and all? It’s okay if you’re not. Just tell me and I’ll…” He falls over a few words when Steve starts chuckling. “What?”

Bucky is wearing Steve’s clothes now. Just add that to the list of things that makes the kid positively adorable. 

The bottom of the sweatpants cover half his feet and he’s practically swimming in Steve’s shirt. Toss in the mop of wet hair on top of his head and Steve just wants to scoop him into his arms and cuddle with him for hours. 

“Nothing.” He can’t help the chuckle. “You look cute.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Oh shut up. They’re _your_ clothes.”

“I know. I mean it, Buck. You look cute in my clothes.”

A light blush tickles Bucky’s cheeks. He mutters a thanks and then Steve gets him all set up on the couch. 

“Remote’s on the coffee table,” he tells him. “And, um, help yourself to anything in the kitchen.”

Bucky yawns and nods as he gets onto the couch. Plopping his head down on the pillow and flinging one of the blankets over him.

“Well… goodnight, Bucky,” Steve says as he flicks the lights off. 

Bucky’s reaching for the remote when he says, “G’night, Steve. Sir.”

Warmth rivers through Steve. Hearing Bucky say goodnight and not having him walk out the door right after. He’ll be here in the morning. When Steve wakes--so long as he doesn’t feel the need to sneak out before then--and he’s going to spend the day with him. He’s been paid to of course--Bucky was sure to show him his phone after the payment went through--but Bucky didn’t seem too put off by the idea. 

After washing and changing himself, Steve climbs into bed. He falls asleep quickly, hearing Bucky’s quiet laugh at whatever he’s got on the television. 

The first time Steve wakes is only a little more than an hour after he first fell asleep. His eyes open and he stares into the dark room, unsure why he’s awake. Dazed and confused, he blinks a bit as his eyes adjust to the shadows.

Steve sits up and rubs at his face. Tries to pry the bit of sleep away to allow for some more coherency to filter through. Something’s different. He just can’t put his finger on what. Not until his fingers literally touch the difference. Steve takes a quick glimpse to his side. 

The spot on the bed that was empty isn’t empty now. Bucky’s there. Curled up with the blanket Steve gave him all cocooned around him. Pulled up to his chin. He hasn’t gotten under the covers with Steve, but is instead sleeping right on top of them.

That’s not what woke Steve. It’s the soft whimpering that’s coming from Bucky that pulled him from his sleep. 

Steve reaches for the lamp next to him. Switches it on. Bucky’s eyes squeeze, but he doesn’t stir beyond that. His face is all scrunched up and there’s a tear leaking out of his eyes. Just a one. Crawling down the side of his nose. 

“Don’t… leave me…” he mutters in his sleep. Whines like he’s about to break out into a sob and then whimpers again. “I’m sorry…”

“Hey…” Steve puts a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. Gently rubs his back with the other. “Shh. It’s okay, Bucky,” he murmurs in his ear. “You’re okay. You’re okay, Bucky.”

Bucky’s breathing, which Steve hadn’t even noticed was pretty labored until now, starts to settle. So Steve keeps going. 

“You’re safe, Bucky. I…” Steve feathers a kiss on his temple and whispers just as softly, “I love you.”

Chest expanding with a deep inhale, Bucky starts to relax as he releases it. Now that Bucky’s settling, no longer trapped within the walls of a nightmare, Steve has the chance to let this sink in. Bucky. In bed with him. Thoughts and images play through Steve’s head. 

Why did Bucky decide to join him? When? What made him not want to get under the covers? Did he plan on waking before Steve? Sneaking off so that Steve never even knew he was here?

Steve supposes the answers to any or all of his questions don’t really matter. Whatever the reason, Bucky’s here because he wants to be.

Letting that thought be the one to focus on most, Steve lays back down and gets comfortable again. He falls back to sleep with his hand still on Bucky’s shoulder.

The second time Steve wakes is not as nice. Another nightmare. This time his own. 

He can’t remember much of it. There was someplace dark. Like a stone basement. And he couldn’t get out. He was running and running and running, and kept getting nowhere. Steve cried out for help, but got no answer. He knows he must have been calling out for his mama since he woke with a shout of her name.

Sweat clings to his hairline. Steve’s trembling and trying to catch his breath. His lungs hurt. His head is spinning. Nothing’s processing correctly. He’s in his bedroom, that he knows, but nothing else is making sense. The room whirls and blurs around him. It hurts to breathe. It hurts move. 

And apparently he’s not the one who woke himself up.

There’s someone there with him. In the sun soaked room with beams of light moving along the floor. Steve gasps and jerks away when that someone touches his shoulder.

“Steve, Steve!” the person chants. “It’s okay!”

Steve almost falls out of the bed. He feels so dizzy and tears block his vision. But that voice, he knows it. Trembling from head to toe, he glances over to see Bucky. Palms out, concern all over him. 

“Are you…”

“I’m okay,” Steve lies. He’s not okay. Far from it. “I’m… I’m fine. Fine. Sorry. I’m… did I wake you? I didn’t mean to. I’m fine. You… it’s okay. Go back to sleep.”

Tossing the blanket away, Steve hurries out of bed. Bucky’s sitting up straight. Sounds like he’s still trying to check on Steve’s well-being.

“I’m okay,” Steve keeps on saying. This isn’t for Bucky to see. Not Bucky. Too much burden. Not fair. “Sleep. Go back to sleep.”

He leaves the room. And Bucky. Probably stunned and maybe frightened. Steve won’t bleed on him though. He just won’t. 

Steve makes his way to the bathroom. Stumbling down the hall the whole way. In the medicine cabinet is his inhaler. He grabs it. Almost drops it twice before getting it to his mouth. Pumps the medication into his body and waits for the pain to subside in his lungs. 

It’s slow going. The fire going out at an unreasonable pace, but it’s getting there. Steve splashes cold water on his face. He’s still shaking. Heart slamming against his chest. He’s so dizzy. The whole world spinning around him so fast he’s not even sure if he’s standing still. 

He can’t… can’t think straight. Home. Steve wants to go home. Mama… he wants… no. She’s gone. Never coming back. There’s something he’s got to do. School? He’s going to be late for school. Or work. Is that… 

“Steve?”

The quiet voice comes from right outside the bathroom door. It’s soft and gentle and still Steve slams his hands over his ears. 

“I’m okay,” he mutters. “Okay. I’m okay.”

At this point, Steve’s not even sure who he’s trying to convince. Him or Bucky. Who now steps into the bathroom with him. Slowly. One steady step at a time. 

“It’s okay, Steve. You’re okay.”

Bucky’s voice is nice and getting closer. Dropping his hands away from his head, they land on the sides of the sink and Steve braces himself that way. He’s shaking his head. _Please no_. Bucky shouldn’t see this. He needs to be strong for Bucky. Not like this. Falling to pieces over a dream. 

He can’t seem to speak though. Not properly. Not enough to say anything more than he’s okay. Which he still isn’t. Stomach turning now, he feels like be might be sick.

“Are you having a panic attack, Steve?” Bucky asks. 

Steve squeezes his eyes closed. Moisture still escapes. His hands clench around the cold porcelain. 

“Can I touch you? Or will that make it worse?”

All Steve can manage is a nod of his head. Which doesn’t really answer the question at hand. He wants Bucky’s touch. He shouldn’t want it. It’s not right. But he does. He just can’t figure out how to ask for it. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says. “How’s this… is it okay to touch you, baby?”

Eyes popping open, Steve feels something strange pump through his body. Mixed in with all the panic and fear and worry, it’s hard to figure out what it is. But it’s warm and nice. Bucky’s never called him that before. Steve glances over at him and nods. 

Bucky nods back and reaches out. Nice and slow. As though afraid of startling Steve. His hand grazes the back of Steve’s neck and then settles there gently. It’s the first real thing Steve’s felt since waking. 

“You’re safe, Steve,” Bucky tells him. “You’re at home and you’re safe. I’m here with you. Bucky. You know me, right?”

Yes, he knows him. Licking his lips, Steve fights back the urge to cry and just nods again. 

“Steve, I need you to breathe. You’re holding your breath. I need you to let it out for me. Nice and slow, okay? Can you do that?”

No wonder there’s so much pressure in his chest again. Steve does as Bucky asks. Lets out the air in his lungs. Slow. The pursed lips probably slow it down even further. 

“That’s it. Good. Stay with me, Steve.” Bucky caresses the back of Steve’s neck. “Do you have any meds for this?” Steve shakes his head. “Just your inhaler?” When Steve nods, he asks, “Did you take it?”

“Yes,” Steve manages to squeak out.

That makes Bucky smile. Whole. And _that_ makes Steve want to smile but he can’t quite get his mouth to work right. 

“Hey, there you are. My favorite voice. You’re gonna get through this, Steve. I promise. How about we sit down? We can go into the living room?”

Steve’s not sure if he can make it there yet. Bucky must see this and just tells him that it’s okay. Instead of asking him to try to move, he just helps Steve sit down against the cabinet under the sink. Steve makes it there with a plop. 

“You’re doing so good, Steve. Can you lift your hands up for me? Up and down, just like this?” 

He goes on to demonstrate. Puts his hands up to about chin high and down again. 

Okay. Okay, yes, Steve can do that. And he does. He lifts his hands up the same way Bucky does. Then does it again and again. 

“See, not so bad, right?” Bucky asks. “This is good. All you need to think about. Just your hands. Up and down. You’re breathing better, too. So proud of you, Stevie.”

There’s a hitch in Steve’s breath. As though he’s just getting over a long and hard cry. 

“Do you want some water, Steve? I can go get you some. If you want.”

Actually, he does, but Steve doesn’t want it enough for Bucky to leave. Even for just a moment or two. 

Things are starting to calm down now. Head clearing, heart slowing. Clarity returning. All of this just happened in front of Bucky. Steve feels so ridiculous. And so tired. He wipes an arm over his eyes. 

“M’sorry, Bucky,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean…”

“No, don’t do that,” Bucky insists. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Just rest, okay? You wanna lean on me?”

That sounds like heaven. Steve is exhausted and rests his head on Bucky’s shoulder. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Bucky asks. 

“Um… I…” Steve sucks in a deep breath. “I had a bad dream. I was…” He needs a few more seconds to get it out. “I was looking for something. But I was… lost… stupid, I know…”

“Not stupid. It’s okay, Steve. There’s nothing stupid about it, baby.” 

Steve’s face feels warm. Bucky called him baby again. It really feels nice. Especially since Steve’s the one to normally call him that. 

“Where’d you learn… to do that?” Steve questions. “I mean, to… help me?”

His hand is still at the back of Steve’s neck. Gently tracing circles along his skin and letting fingertips run through the start of the hair back there. 

“Becky gets them,” he explains. “Real bad sometimes. I wanted to be able to help her, so I learned. Are you feeling better?”

“Mm. Tired.”

“You wanna get back in bed? Can you walk?”

“I think so.”

Bucky gets up first. Holds his hands out and helps Steve back up. He has Steve lean up against his side as they walk back to the bedroom. Steve climbs back into the bed. Pulls back the covers and basically falls into the pillows. 

“Stay here,” Bucky instructs. “I’m going to get you some water now.”

There’s no point in arguing. Water is a necessity right now anyway. And Bucky doesn’t sound like he’ll take no for an answer. He even makes him sit back up to drink it. Because at first Steve shakes his head.

“Uh-ah. Come on. Up.” He even snaps his fingers. “Let’s go. You need to drink.”

Steve sighs and sits up. Takes the glass from Bucky’s hand and sips slowly. Because Bucky tells him to. If Steve’s honest, he’s a little intrigued by this side of Bucky. 

Bucky sits down next to him. Only lets Steve stop drinking when most of the water’s gone. 

“Okay. Lay down. Try to get some rest,” he instructs. 

They lay down together and Bucky takes to trailing his fingers at the back of Steve’s neck again. It feels so nice. Comforting. And when Steve wakes the third time, he feels good. 

He smiles. Bucky’s sleeping next to him. Face smothered in the pillow and a little bit of drool at the corner of his mouth. 

Steve wipes a bit of the hair away from Bucky’s face. He leans in and kisses his cheek. Bucky took care of him earlier. When Steve was trapped in the tight grip of a nasty panic attack. One that came on so suddenly and out of nowhere. Steve had been so utterly unprepared, but Bucky took care of him. Didn’t think less of him for it either. 

A part of Steve wants to feel foolish for what happened. For letting Bucky see that happen to him at all. That part of him is drowned out by the side that seems to sound suspiciously like Bucky telling him not to feel stupid. That it’s not his fault.

There aren’t many people Steve’s very comfortable with showing such a vulnerability to. Most of his friends are very aware of this. One of the reasons Tony had asked if he should get Sam last night rather than try helping himself. But now that Bucky’s seen it and handled it and helped, and didn’t panic or judge him, Steve feels… safe. And above all, so very grateful. 

“Can I keep you?” Steve whispers.

The only response he gets is Bucky scratching at his cheek. It still makes Steve grin.

A sunbeam dances along the edge of the bed. It’ll be trailing along Bucky’s face pretty soon. Probably waking him. And it dawns on Steve that he has the whole day to spend with him. The whole day with Bucky. The thought leaves him giddy. Steve kisses his cheek again and gets out of bed. 

It occurs to Steve as he takes a quick shower, lasting no more than a few minutes, that if he’s ever going to take Bucky on a proper date, today’s the best chance to show the kid what it’d be like. Well, maybe Steve’ll show off a bit today, but showing Bucky a good time _would_ be what he’d be all about. 

Steve considers the possibilities as he whips up some breakfast for the both of them. Just throwing some pancake mix together. Adding a few handfuls of chocolate chips in since he’s sure Bucky’ll like that. Putting the batter aside, Steve goes to his computer to look up a few things. 

First idea he has is the museum. But it’s a Sunday. Just two weeks before Christmas, too. Tourists galore. In fact, that’s a hinderance with a couple of things. Times Square will be packed. So will Central Park. Rockefeller Center will probably be the worst. Manhattan isn’t the _only_ option of course. They could stay in Brooklyn.

The Botanical Gardens is always nice. Prospect Park even in the winter months is a good trip. But given the cold weather, the day would probably be cut short. Steve could always take him to Dyker Heights to see the holiday lights. But that would have to wait until sundown. 

Fingers drumming on the table, Steve is quickly running out of options when an ad flashes on the side of the page he’s on. One that’s actually helpful. Steve clicks on it. It proves to be quite useful. After checking the time--it’s just about half past ten--Steve figures they’ll have plenty of time for this. 

It actually takes a few searches, and probably spending a bit of extra money--that’s what Steve gets for waiting until the last minute--but he gets everything he needs to do this and has everything they’ll need sent to his phone. Bucky’s going to need to change but Steve has some clothes in his storage unit that might fit him. Now Steve just needs to get the kid up.

Back in his bedroom, Steve is actually struck with another idea as he passes his closet. Where his chest is. Just because they’re going out doesn’t mean they can’t also have their own special brand of fun. Steve grabs just one thing from the chest and puts it out on the kitchen counter before waking his sleeping guest. 

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Steve murmurs as he shakes him by the shoulder. “Come on. Rise and shine. We have things to do.”

Bucky grunts a little. Even gets out a moan as he smothers his face in the pillow. He wipes at the corner of his mouth--Steve’s pretty sure that means he’s at least a little awake--and shakes his head.

“Mm-mm,” he mutters. “Sleepin’. Go away.”

Steve chuckles and kisses the back of Bucky’s neck.

“No can do, baby boy.” That actually seems to get a pretty good response. Bucky breathes in deep and opens his eyes. “We have places to be, sweetheart.”

Bucky glances over his shoulder and squints at him. Bleary eyed and smacking his lips, he rolls over and drops his head back on the pillow. Stretches his arms above his head with a loud groan.

“Hi,” he greets when he finishes. Rubs his palms into his eyes. “I never seen you in the morning.”

“Is it bad?” Steve asks. 

“Dunno. What time is it?”

“About eleven.”

Bucky sighs and gives Steve the stink eye. 

“It’s before noon on a Sunday,” he pouts. “I should’ve thought this through. You’re a morning person.”

Patting Bucky’s thigh through the blankets, Steve laughs and tells him to get up. 

“Breakfast’ll be ready soon.” Steve fits his hand to that spot on Bucky’s face he loves so much. “Thank you, Bucky. For earlier.”

“You’re feeling better now, right?” Bucky wants to know. “And yeah, no problem, Steve. I mean, s’not like I don’t owe ya or nothin’. You’ve been pretty awesome to me and all.”

“Yeah, but… well, first, yes, I am feeling better. But, you never _owe_ me anything, Buck. You don’t owe anyone for treating you the way you deserve.”

For a few seconds, Bucky stares back at Steve as though he’s running over something very important in his head. Steve can see the thoughts running through that mind of his. Like thousands of bright stars appearing in the night sky. 

“Brock didn’t like it,” Bucky whispers. “If I ever got upset. When… when he told me that he didn’t love me or want to be with me I, um, I started to cry.” His cheeks turn red as though embarrassed by his confession. “He told me to man up. Told ya, Steve, people don’t wanna pay for some over emotional whore.”

He adds an awkward laugh at the end of his statement. Bites his lip a bit after he says it. Almost as though he’s trying to make a joke and then realizes it’s not funny. 

“You’re not a whore, Bucky,” Steve reprimands. Sure to make it _sound_ as such. Bucky flinches a bit and nods.

“I know,” he answers. Steve believes that. That Bucky doesn’t really think he’s a whore. But sometimes these thoughts sneak up on him. Things the world would have him believe. Things he’s been fighting not to when his trust and heart’s been broken by that very belief. “I just… Brock--”

“Sounds like a chauvinistic pig,” Steve interrupts. “And a bully. I’ll never make you feel bad for _feeling_ things, Bucky. No one ever should. Might not be worth much, but _I_ like you the way you are.”

Bucky folds a smile in and tucks his chin down. His tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek as he fights back that grin. Before looking back up, Bucky wipes at his eyes.

“It’s worth a lot,” Bucky whispers. Then asks, “You said something about food?” 

Changing the subject, it would seem. Not that Steve can blame him. Bucky holds his heart close to his chest, that much Steve knows. Just the amount he’s let Steve see in the past few hours is an honor.

“Yep. Come on,” Steve says, taking Bucky by the elbow to help him out of bed. “Then we’ll find you something to wear and be on our way.”

“Where’re we goin’?”

“It’s a surprise.”

The pancakes don’t take all that long to make. While Steve cooks them, he notices Bucky checking his phone. He tries to be discreet about it, but Steve catches it. And the disappointment that crosses Bucky’s face when he doesn’t see what he hoped for. Steve’s guess is he hoped for a text or call from Brock. And he’s found none. Bucky rubs at his eyes. Longer than just pulling sleep from them. Maybe to keep in tears again. Steve gives him the dignity of pretending he hasn’t seen anything at all.

As he suspected, Bucky’s pleasantly surprised to find that Steve’s added the chocolate to them. They’re about halfway through eating when Bucky happens to notice what Steve’s placed on the counter. The toy from the chest. He stops mid-chew when his eyes land upon the butt plug. Steve pretends to not know what he’s looking at and just goes on.

“Hey, Buck?” Bucky pulls his attention away from the counter and back to Steve. “When did you get into bed with me?”

Scarlet touches his cheeks and Bucky pushes what’s left of his food around on his plate. 

“Um, about an hour after you went in. M’sorry. Was that okay?”

“Of course!” Steve doesn’t mean for his voice to get so squeaky. “I mean, I don’t mind. You could have started there if that’s what you wanted.”

“Yeah well, didn’t really know I did till I did.” Bucky shrugs. “If that makes sense. I got… lonely, I guess. Just… after…”

There’s no need for him to explain. After all, he had planned on spending the night with Brock. On _not_ being alone and then unexpectedly found himself that way. Only he did have another option and Steve’s honored that he felt comfortable enough to take it. 

He’d say as much, at least tell him he’s always welcome to stay, when he catches Bucky once again stealing a glimpse at the counter. Once again, Steve pretends not to notice. 

“Are you done?” 

The question seems to confuse Bucky. He just stares at Steve before realizing he’s talking about the food. 

“Oh. Yeah.” Bucky takes the plate to the sink himself. Trying hard not to stare at the plug. 

“You like that?” Steve asks. Coming up from behind while Bucky’s still at the sink. He wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist and holds him close. “Hm?”

Bucky leans back so that Steve’s lips can graze just under his ear. He whimpers and nods.

“Y-yes.”

“Yes what, good boy?”

“Yes… yes, sir.”

Just to be sure this isn’t too soon after what’s happened, Steve backs away and turns Bucky by his shoulders. There’s a tiny grin on his face. Eyes excited already. Still, Steve feels the need to check.

“Hey, listen to me. Give me a color. If this is too much, too soon…”

“Green!” Bucky exclaims. “Green, Steve, green. _Please_. I want this. S’not like last night. I swear.”

Steve regards him for a moment or two. Checks for any signs of dishonesty and finds none. When he straightens up, his decision to continue must show on his face, since Bucky’s peeking to the side again. 

“Come on. We’ll get you some clothes first. _Then_ we’ll see about that.”

Steve gets a whine for that, but Bucky doesn’t protest. He just follows Steve into the living room where they both put on their shoes and coats to head outside to Steve’s storage unit. On the way over, Bucky checks his phone again. Steve’s heart aches when he sees that disappointed look cross Bucky’s face again.

Boxes and cases line the walls. All marked and pretty easy to find since Steve might not be the _neatest_ person in the world, but he _is_ organized. Nothing’s out of the ordinary to him when they step in, but Bucky gasps.

“Whose bike is this?” he asks when he sees Steve’s Harley parked in the middle of the unit. 

Steve glances at his bike and then up to Bucky. He opens his eyes nice and wide. Faking complete and utter shock. 

“Gee golly, Buck!” he teases. “Whose bike could this be in _my_ unit? Maybe I should call the proper authorities!” 

Folding his arms over his chest, Bucky twists his lips and rolls his eyes. 

“You’re an ass,” he huffs. “I didn’t know you rode one of these.”

“Yup.” Steve pats the seat. “You ever been on one?”

“I… I mean…” Bucky stutters over a few more words and tries desperately to maintain an air of indifference and yet somehow seem cool at the same time. “I mean, yeah. Course I have.”

About to call that bluff, Steve picks up his extra helmet and holds it out to him. 

“Awesome!” he exclaims. “Why don’t we go for a ride now?”

Bucky backs away from the helmet as though it means to harm him. His arms fall, his face falls, and he shakes his head.

“N-no,” he whimpers. “I… no.”

Steve laughs and puts the helmet back.

“You baby,” he jokes. Then takes Bucky’s hand to kiss it. “Another time maybe. Come on. This stuff’s only been away since I moved back so it’s all still clean.”

As a bit of a pack-rat, Steve still has tons of clothes that he no longer wears. That also includes a bunch that he accidentally shrank and don’t fit him. None of them are doll-sized or anything, so they should be a good fit for Bucky. 

While Steve rummages through his clothes, he hears Bucky over by some of the other boxes. Not being nosy, just curious. There’s an awful lot of stuff in here. Steve doesn’t blame him for wanting to take a look. Bucky picks up Steve’s old boxing gloves, a yoga mat, some comic books, and an old ceramic piece that Steve did. Steve’d decided ceramics wasn’t for him. 

“Who’s this?” Bucky asks. “Is this your mom?”

Steve glances over his shoulder to see Bucky holding a framed picture. Yes, it’s of him and his mom. There’s another one in that box with the two of them, and Sam and Mrs. Wilson. On Steve’s seventeenth birthday. The last one he ever got with her before she got sick. In fact, the box Bucky’s at has most of the pictures Steve’s stashed away. Pictures he’s only glanced at in the past several years.

“Yes,” Steve whispers. “That’s her.”

Bucky’s still looking at it. His fingers graze the sides of the frame as he looks over the picture.

“She was real pretty, Steve,” he comments, still focused on what’s in his hands. “How come you don’t have pictures of her up in your place?”

The answer to that seems obvious. Even if it does leave a pit in Steve’s stomach.

“Cause she’s dead.”

“Well… _yeah_ ,” he proceeds without a thought. “Isn’t that, like, all the more reason to…”

“Hanging a picture of my dead mother won’t bring her back.”

The answer comes out a lot harsher than Steve intends. His voice scraping roughly against stone. Bucky snaps his head up. Looks a bit stunned at the way Steve’s answered.

“I… I’m sorry, Steve.” Bucky puts the frame back carefully. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just--”

“No, no,” Steve interrupts. Last thing he needs is for Bucky thinking he needs to tiptoe around him. “That’s not… it…” He sighs and drops whatever article of clothing he’s been holding this whole time. “ _I’m_ sorry, Bucky. I shouldn’t have answered you like that. I didn’t mean to. I’m… I really am sorry.”

Bucky shakes his head and comes over with a little grin on his face. He rests his hand on Steve’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze. 

“S’alright, Stevie. No damage done. Swear.”

Taking hold of the hand on his shoulder, Steve nuzzles the top of it and smiles up at Bucky. Bucky smiles back. 

Steve continues searching through the trunk he’s sure he’ll find something in. After a bit of looking, he pulls out a black and white striped sweater and a black blazer. He hands them to Bucky and finds a pair of khakis to go with them. The shoes Bucky’s worn here will do fine for where they’re going.

“Does that work?” Steve asks when he sees Bucky’s holding the sweater out for inspection. “Or do you want me to find something else?”

Bucky lowers the sweater just enough so that he can peer over the top of it. He grins, giving Steve a cute nod of the head.

“This is good. I like ‘em.”

“Alright.” Steve closes the trunk and stands back up. He brushes a finger across Bucky’s cheek. “So then we’ll go back inside. You’ll get washed up. And _then_ …” He steps up closer and runs both his hands down Bucky’s sides. Tilts Bucky’s chin up towards him and teases those lips with his own. “And then we’ll see about getting you _all_ ready for today. How’s that sound, hm?”

“Yes… yes, sir…” Bucky breathes. Still trying to get a kiss and never successful beyond a brush of lips. He whines and whispers, “Please, Steve?”

“You want a kiss, sweet boy?”

Bucky nods. Eyes barely open now, he’s still on his toes, leaning towards Steve in his attempt to get what he wants.

“Mhm, mhm,” he responds. Dreamy. Puckering his lips and waiting.

“Come and get it then.”

Bucky’s eyes fly open just as Steve takes a step back. He manages to take hold of Steve’s hips to keep him there. Just in time. His hands grip the waistband of Steve’s pants and Bucky pulls himself to him again. Tries for another kiss only to have Steve jerk his head away. Lips set in a frustrated line, Bucky goes for a different approach. He takes hold of Steve’s cheeks and plants a kiss before Steve has a chance to wiggle free.

Against his mouth, Steve can feel Bucky smiling. Proud and triumphant. Steve grabs Bucky’s backside and thrusts their hips together. Cocks grinding and causing Bucky’s smile to fall. The second Bucky’s mouth opens, Steve’s catching his lower lip between his teeth. Bucky whimpers and shudders as Steve tugs just slightly until releasing his grip. 

There’s a slight flush to Bucky’s skin. His eyes are shut and he’s trying to catch his breath. 

“Come on now,” Steve says. “You’re going to make us late.”

“Oh _I’m_ going to make us late?” Bucky scoffs. He goes to mumble something else but Steve’s raised eyebrows cuts him off. Instead of saying whatever was just sitting on his tongue, Bucky holds in a giggle and says, “Sorry, sir.”

Steve snickers. Kisses Bucky’s forehead and then takes them back inside. 

The morning has quickly dwindled away to early afternoon. A clear blue sky waits for them. A clear blue sky with the sun shining brightly and the temperatures not even breaking double digits. It’s quite deceptive.

“Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do,” Steve says when they’re back in the living room. “I’m gonna go brush my teeth. Then the bathroom’s all yours. There’s an extra toothbrush, still in the package, in the medicine cabinet. If you want to shower, that’s fine, but we do need to leave in about forty minutes.”

Bucky agrees and when Steve’s leaving the bathroom after brushing his teeth just like he said, Bucky looks at him curiously.

“What?” Steve asks. 

“I… am I not changing?” he asks. 

The clothes Steve got for him are still in the living room. Left on the couch the way Steve wants them.

“Not in there,” Steve tells him. “When you’re finished in here, meet me in the kitchen.” He steps up close to Bucky and sticks the very tip of his index finger under Bucky’s chin. “And _then_ … I’ll get you ready. Okay, sweet boy?”

Bucky’s bottom lip quivers. For just a second or two, his mind seems to blank before rushing back and maybe picking up in double time since he suddenly nods like he’s desperate to get moving. 

“Yes, sir. да, да.”

“Good boy. Get a move on.”

Steve gives Bucky’s ass a swat as he hurries into the bathroom to do as he’s been told. It’s not hard enough to leave a mark of any kind, but it’s by no means friendly and it makes Bucky yelp. He’s giggling when he closes the door behind him. 

While Bucky freshens up, Steve decides on the clothes he wants -- a pair of dark grey slacks, a cotton shirt one shade lighter, and a black button down sweater to go over it -- but decides to wait to dress until he done with Bucky. And for that he grabs the bottle of lube from his nightstand and returns to the kitchen in just his boxers and a plain white a-shirt. 

There, he picks up the butt plug and opens the package. This one’s brand new and vibrating with a wireless remote. As far as he knows, Bucky has no clue that it vibrates at all, let alone there’s a remote to it. He hasn’t had the chance to read over the package it’s come out of. Steve fiddles with it for a few minutes. Tests all ten settings. The pulsations and the vibrations. Each getting more vigorous with every new mode. Before Bucky gets out of the bathroom, Steve is sure to stick the remote in the pocket of the pants he plans to wear. It’ll be a nice little surprise when Bucky finds out he has it.

Bucky only takes about ten minutes in the bathroom, and that’s including him hopping in the shower quickly. When he gets to the kitchen, he sort of sneaks in through the door. Quietly. He isn’t wearing any clothes, but he’s hair is done. Styled up and out of his face. Bucky must have helped himself to Steve’s gel. 

Now that the plug is out of the box, Bucky’s eyeing it like he’s starving. Ready to devour anything that Steve’ll give him. 

“One more time, Bucky,” Steve says, even though he’s sure Bucky’s tired of hearing it. “I just need to know…”

“Green,” Bucky interrupts. “Please, Steve. Oh, sir, _please_ gimme.”

Seated at the table, Steve smirks and waves his hand for Bucky to come closer. Bucky’s feet pad along the linoleum, making quiet _flop flop flop_ noises until he stops right in front of Steve. 

Instead of moving right away, even though they’re getting a little pressed for time, Steve just lets his eyes run over the body in front of him. Bucky’s absolutely delicious, in every sense of the word. A part of Steve -- a very small part -- thinks about ditching today’s plans in favor of having Bucky spend the rest of the day like this. Steve can get him all prepped and he’ll be ready for him _whenever_ Steve wants. If he wants to bend him over the table or the side of the couch, or fold him in half on his bed and just pound into Bucky until Bucky’s seeing stars. Until he knows nothing other than the pleasure Steve’s giving him.

Steve wonders just how long it would take for Bucky to move again on his own. He hasn’t been given the permission, but would he get too antsy to stay still for Steve? Steve doesn’t wait to find out. Not today.

“Lean over the table,” he instructs. “On your forearms. Keep your eye on the table and _only_ the table.”

Bucky moves gracefully. Like sun washing over the earth. Gets into position as naturally as breathing. He doesn’t say a word, but Steve can see the anticipation curling in his muscles. 

Running a finger down Bucky’s spine, Steve kisses the back of his neck. Tells him to relax. 

“You’re gonna wear my plug all day,” he whispers in Bucky’s ear. “You’ll like that, won’t you, sweet boy? Being filled up like that?”

Bucky just pants at first. Nothing’s even happened yet, but he’s starting to shiver. Steve thinks he could die happy just imagining his touch and voice bringing his boy to such a state. 

“Answer me, Buck,” Steve orders. “Be a good boy.”

Whatever’s been lodged in Bucky’s throat -- whether it be nerves or excitement or leftover emotions from last night -- gets swallowed down.

“Yes, sir,” he breathes. “Yes. I want it.”

Steve goes out of his way to make sure the top of the lube makes a loud popping sound when he flicks it open. The second the noise breaks through the kitchen, Bucky goes to look over at Steve, but remembers his instructions at the last second and keeps his eyes trained on the table.

“What a good boy you are,” Steve praises as he squeezes some lube onto his fingers. “You’re gonna be good for me all day, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes.” Bucky takes in a deep breath as he steadies himself. “I’ll be so goo-- _ah_ …” He cuts himself off when Steve takes to slipping the tip of his finger inside of him. 

“Keep going, baby,” he tells him. “What are you gonna be?”

Hands clenching, Bucky moans a little and shakes his head. Not denying Steve, just to do it. But he keeps those eyes focused on the tabletop. 

“I’m gonna be s-so… _mmm_ …” His body starts to tense around Steve’s finger as he pushes further in. “M’gonna be so good… for you, sir. So good.”

“All day?”

“All day…”

Bucky’s voice fades to a whisper. As Steve works his finger in and out of him, nice and slow, twisting here and there, Bucky holds in tiny whimpers. When Steve adds a second finger -- just pushing it on in with that first -- Bucky releases a breathy moan. 

Within ten minutes, Steve’s worked up to three fingers and Bucky’s starting to shake. Steve takes his fingers out. Bucky whines, and this time forgets his rule and looks over his shoulder to give Steve a pair of big, weepy eyes. 

“You told me you were gonna be good,” Steve admonishes. “Did I tell you you could look away from the table yet?”

Eyes growing large, Bucky quickly remedies his mistake, only to have Steve reprimand him with three unforgiving slaps across his ass. He grunts through each one. 

“M’sorry, sir,” Bucky whimpers. Sniffles a little and repeats it. “I’m sorry. I’ll be good. I promise.”

“I know you will.” Steve plants a kiss right at the base of Bucky’s spine. Caresses the tender spot he’s just struck. “You like listening to me, don’t you? Being such a good boy for me?”

“Yes, sir.”

That plug is just aching to get inside of Steve’s perfect boy. Steve can’t wait any longer. Doesn’t look like Bucky can either. Steve takes it and slides it down Bucky’s back. Lets it move over each little bump in his spine until he reaches the crack of his ass. Steve only pulls it away a mere half an inch to rub lube over it before he slowly starts to insert it in that wonderfully tight hole that’s going to love housing it for the rest of the day. 

“Oh fuck,” Bucky pants. “ _Mmm_ … Steve, sir, please… I, _oh_ , I wanna come.”

Steve chuckles, pausing where he is with the plug. This is pretty soon for Bucky. He doesn’t usually ask to come so quickly. 

“Yeah? You think I should let you? We’re going out, baby boy, and you just came last night.” He’s answered with a whine and a broken _please_. Steve starts pushing the plug in again and making Bucky groan. “Such a greedy boy you are. I’ll tell you what, you can lay flat on the table and touch yourself. If you can get yourself off before I’m finished back here, go ahead. If you can’t… you’ll _wait_. Understand?”

“Yes, yes!” Bucky’s practically falling to his stomach over the table. Bringing his hands under to grab himself. “Thank you, sir, oh th-thank you.”

The little movements that Bucky’s touching causes make Steve move a little slower. Bucky’s trying so hard though. There’s not that much time and he knows it, but wants to gets off _so_ badly. 

“Running out of time,” Steve taunts, which just makes Bucky even more desperate. Some kind of sob breaks in his throat. Just to make it even better for his boy, Steve starts pushing the plug in and out. Only an inch or two, but it’s enough to make Bucky toss his head back and gasp. 

With one final shove, Steve gets the plug all the way in and Bucky must know it too since he lets out a high-pitched whine. Pleading wordlessly for just a _little_ more time. Given the tiny yelp he gave when it went all the way in, Steve has no doubt it pressed almost right against his prostate. 

Steve gets his lips right behind Bucky’s ear. Licks and suckles and nips and then murmurs, “ _Come_. Come for me, sweet boy.”

“Shit… shit…” Bucky pants. Shaking and starting to come undone. Just a few more strokes gets him there. “Боже мой!”

“There you go, baby,” Steve soothes. Runs circles over Bucky’s back. “Feel better?”

Bucky’s completely sprawled out on the table now, cheek flushed against the top of it.

“Mhm,” he mutters through a lazy grin. “Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome. Come on.” Steve gently takes hold of Bucky’s shoulders. “I’m gonna help you up. We’ll go slow so you can get used to the plug.”

Bucky snickers. “S’not the first time I’ve worn a plug, Steve.”

“Alright, smartass.” He helps him up anyway. Bucky’s nose crinkles when he’s up straight, but otherwise he makes no sign of any discomfort. “Okay?” Bucky nods. “Kay. Stay here. I’ll get you a towel to clean up,” There’s a bit of semen on the floor, but Steve’ll get that in a minute, “And then we have to get dressed ‘cause we really need to get a move on.”

“And you’re still not gonna tell me where we’re goin’?”

“Nope. But I am gonna tell you to give me a kiss.”

“ _Oh_ yes, sir.”

Bucky grins and does.

It only takes them about ten minutes to get all that done--and a minute or two for Bucky to adjust to walking with the plug in. Once again, Bucky looks adorable in Steve’s old clothes. As predicted, this outfit fits him much better. It’s still a little too big but there’s just something precious about having Bucky in his clothing. 

“Steve?” Bucky says as they’re walking out the door. “If I forget to say it later, thank you.”

Steve locks the door and puts his arm around Bucky’s shoulder. Pulls him in close and kisses his temple.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

The train gets them into the city in just under an hour and drops them off at Times Square. Right at 42nd Street. Just as Steve figured, it’s packed. Tourists lined up and down the streets aiming cameras at the famed buildings. People with bags and packages stuffed in their arms as they get in holiday shopping. Everyone’s all bundled up. The street lights done up with glistening decorations that shimmer in the happy winter sunlight.

When they step up onto the streets, Bucky looks up at Steve and smiles just as brightly as the lights around them. Just like he’d done when they got on the train, Bucky loops his arm with Steve’s. Unlike on the train, he doesn’t try to sneak in more checks to his phone. Maybe for Steve’s sake or maybe to avoid more disappointment. 

Bucky stays like that and every now and then cuddles against Steve. There’s only a short walk from there to their destination.

“You excited?” Steve asks as they make their way through the crowded blocks. 

“I think so,” Bucky replies, even though he pushes his bottom lip out in a fake, little scowl. “Probably be _more_ excited if I knew where we were goin’.”

“You’ll find out soon enough. We’re almost there.”

Bucky sighs -- _pretends_ to sigh -- like he’s getting impatient, but Steve highly doubts it. He’s enjoying the anticipation as much as Steve can’t wait to see Bucky’s reaction. The plug in Bucky doesn’t do much to deter him or his movements. Not that they’re doing anything that requires excessive work, but if Steve didn’t know any better he’d have no clue there was anything out of the ordinary going on. Every now and then Bucky will squirm a little. Readjust his position or discreetly wiggle about. Other than that, there’s not much of a change. 

He seems to enjoy it though, _especially_ on the train. The bit of vibration had him sliding his ass a bit along the plastic seats until Steve told him to stop. Sometimes he sucks in a quick gasp or lets out a quiet moan. His eyes close softly as if savoring the sensation that’s run through him. The remote is still in Steve’s pocket. It’s gone untouched and will for just a while longer. 

They’re nearing their destination now and Bucky just might be picking up on where they’re headed. By the way Bucky’s eyes have lit up and then dulled on purpose, Steve’s guessing he’s trying not to get his hopes up. There’re a few options ahead of them. Bucky clearly doesn’t want to get ahead of himself if he’s wrong. Still, he keeps eyeing the place he must hope Steve is taking him to. 

Bucky’s starts chewing on his lip the closer they get. He keeps stealing glimpses up at Steve as though Steve might clue him in and end his suffering. 

Instead of doing that, Steve stops a little ways past the front doors of the Majestic Theater--the exact place Bucky’s been eyeing since it was in his sights. The theater that’s been showing _Phantom of the Opera_ for the past thirty years. Steve pretends that he’s turned around. Looks up and down the block as though trying to figure out which way to go.

“Wait… I think we’re…” He glances down at Bucky, “Yeah, we’re here.”

Bucky lights up like Christmas morning. He’s mentioned in passing his love for musicals. He might have tried to pretend to be too cool about them, but Steve’s never been fooled. 

“You’re taking me to see _Phantom_?!” Bucky exclaims. Brilliant smile. Excited and thrilled and about to burst into a fit of giggles. “Steve! Is this… we’re really… _seriously_?”

Steve laughs and cups the side of Bucky’s face. Bucky’s looking at him with glitter in his eyes. Like Steve’s given him the greatest gift he’s gotten in years.

“Yes, baby,” he says. “We’re seeing _Phantom_. Are you excited?”

“Are you kidding?” Bucky’s nearly shrieking. A few people actually turn their heads to look over as they walk by. “I _love Phantom_! I’ve seen _so_ many versions and I have the Gerard Butler one at home and oh!” He barely even takes a breath. “I dressed up as the Phantom for fantasy day in high school which is part of this week for seniors when we all get to dress up as different things everyday and y’know I’ve _never_ seen it on Broadway!”

So overcome with joy, Bucky is suddenly throwing his arms around Steve’s neck and kissing his cheek. He moves so fast that the momentum of his leap makes Steve rock back a bit as he wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist. 

Steve’s still laughing when he says, “I’m glad you’re happy, sweetheart. I got us pretty good seats, too. Orchestra. You should be able to see everything.”

Unraveling his grip around him, Bucky hops in his spot and takes hold of both Steve’s hands. He tugs but doesn’t try to actually move him.

“Can we go in?” he asks. “Can we, can we?”

“Of course.” Steve chuckles. “You wanna see the play, right?”

“Yes, yes! Come on, come on!”

This time, Bucky does pull Steve along to the doors. There aren’t _that_ many people in line and it’s a good thing, too, since Bucky can barely contain his excitement. He keeps bouncing around and trying to catch a glimpse inside the theater as they move closer to the entrance. 

When they _do_ get in, and Bucky gets handed his playbill, he takes it like it’s one of the greatest things he’s ever been handed. Starts flipping through it immediately. 

“Y’know the guy playin’ the Phantom use’ta play Raoul?” he tells Steve as they’re shown to their seats. “He did. But then the dude before him retired and he got the part.”

They’re on the right side of the theater, only six rows away from the stage and just a few seats into the row.

“Did you already know that?” Steve asks. “Or did you just read it?”

Bucky laughs. “I just read it. But isn’t that so cool? Can you imagine?”

“Have you ever been to a play before, Buck?”

“Mhm.” Bucky is still flipping through the playbill. “I saw the _Lion King_ with Mom and Becky last year. And I got to see _American Idiot_ , too. Y’know, the Green Day one?”

“Oh yeah? I wanted to see that one.”

“Really? Do you know Green Day, grandpa?”

“Uh, _excuse_ me, kid,” Steve mock-scolds. Holding a finger out and everything. “Green Day has been around since _way_ before your time.”

It looks like Bucky might go to say something else, but when the lights above them start blinking, he gasps and lights up again.

“Oh god, that means it’s gonna start soon!” Bucky wiggles about in his seat and must catch the butt plug a bit since he suddenly freezes and grunts softly. 

“Careful, sweet boy,” Steve hums.

Bucky blushes a little and continues to glance around the theater as he anxiously waits for the play to start.

When the lights dim and officially go out, Bucky lets out another excited sound and sits back. 

The opening scene sees Bucky folding his lips in as he prepares for the real show to begin. And Steve would know since he’s focused on Bucky rather than the stage. The very second the first note of the first song strikes out throughout the theater, Bucky’s sucking in a quick, excited breath and grabbing for Steve’s hand. Or he might have just tried to latch onto the armrest and caught Steve’s hand. Either way, Bucky’s hand is now in Steve’s and he doesn’t let go. 

There was no exaggeration when Bucky told Steve how much he loved this play. As they sit and watch -- or Bucky watches the performance while Steve watches Bucky -- he mouths the lyrics along with them. In Steve’s hand, he can feel Bucky’s squeeze in beat with the music. It’s really a glorious sight to behold. The joy on Bucky’s face the whole time is breathtaking. The way the entire atmosphere has just pulled Bucky out of his world and into another. Where he has no worries and can just be free. 

Steve can tell when Bucky’s excited for a scene. He tenses and the grip around Steve’s hand gets tighter. Right before the song _Phantom of the Opera_ , he leans so far forward it’s like he wants to get up on stage with them. During _All I Ask of You_ , Steve can tell Bucky uses his free hand to brush at his eyes. Keep any tears that gather from falling. 

Intermission doesn’t have Bucky getting up to use the facilities like so many other people. He stays right in his seat and doesn’t say a word. Steve doesn’t bother him as Bucky rests his head back on his seat, eyes closed and tiny grin twitching the corners of his mouth. Still absorbed in the fantasy around them. Hand still in Steve’s. Forgotten. Or happily used to being there. 

Right before the second act starts, Bucky rolls his head towards Steve and rests it just up against the side of his shoulder. His eyes are still closed, as though opening them will shatter the illusion. A dream that Bucky’s taken himself to which he has no desire to end just yet. Steve smiles and says nothing. Just caresses the back of Bucky’s hand with his thumb. He could stay like this for hours. Here, with Bucky happy.

By the end of the play, Steve is sure Bucky is the first one out of his seat. He’s clapping wildly. Tears that he tries to wipe away in between claps rolling down his cheeks.

Steve should get up and clap along with the rest of the audience. It’s the polite thing to do. He’s sure their performance was great. Maybe sometime soon he’ll come back and actually watch it. For now, he’s still too busy watching Bucky. Wishing this moment could last forever. 

For both of them. 

“Did you enjoy it?” Steve asks after they’ve gotten their coats and pushed through the throngs of people to make it back to the crowded city streets. They’re not far from the Irish restaurant Steve’s made reservations at. Just a few blocks away. One of the perks of going to the earlier showing. They’ll be able to miss the dinner rush. “The show?”

Bucky’s been unusually quiet since they left the theater. Not sad quiet, at least, Steve doesn’t think. Deep in thought. Maybe processing the play and all the emotions it brings to him. He’s also walking a little funny. Shifting his weight a bit every few steps. The plug making its presence very well known.

“I did. I… thank you so much for taking me, Steve.” Bucky’s talking mostly to his feet. His eyes will lift slightly between every few words, but he’s very focused on the ground. “No one’s ever…” He nixes that and just smiles softly. “Just… thank you.”

“Are you okay, Bucky?”

“Yeah,” He answers absently. “Brock used to take me out. When we first met. All the time. To the movies and fancy restaurants with food I’d never heard of and we even went to the ballet once.” Bucky keeps on walking as he talks. Steve’s not even sure if he’s aware of just what he’s talking about. “He was so fascinating to me. He knew about so many things and he’s been all over the world. Furthest place I’ve ever been is Indiana for family reunions. I just wanted him to love me, but look at me. _Dripping_ with culture, aren’t I? No wonder he didn’t--”

“Don’t,” Steve interrupts. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do--”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” he says. “So maybe you’ve never been to exotic places or studied fine cuisine. But, Bucky, you’re brilliant.” They’ve just reached the corner of the block they need to be on, so Steve brings them to a stop. Moving them to hug the side of the building they’re in front of, Steve puts his hands on Bucky’s shoulders. “Bucky, you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. You’re like a damn sponge. I can see the way you learn. It’s like… like you _live_ for learning new things. You’re kind and gentle.” Steve cups his hand under Bucky’s chin. “You’re fiercely loyal and willing to do whatever it takes to accomplish your goals. Even if those goals benefit someone else more than they do you. So who cares if Brock knew about things you didn’t or went to places you’ve only dreamed of. You’ll get there one day, too, Buck. Without him. Because you don’t _need_ him to get you there.”

Bucky’s eyes are like saucers. Lashes wet and unblinking, he opens his mouth only to find nothing but air escaping. He stares at Steve as though he’s astonished by all he’s just heard. Dazed and slightly confused. 

When Bucky says nothing in response to all that Steve’s said, Steve drops his gaze and tows him along. The restaurant is only a few buildings down, on the middle of the block. 

It’s warm and inviting when they get inside. A welcoming place with wall-length windows and streaming light. The hardwood floors shine up at them as the hostess shows them to their table. 

“Order anything you want,” Steve offers. He studies his own menu very hard. Bucky still hasn’t said anything since being outside. 

“Yeah?” The sound of Bucky’s voice is calming. A huge relief. Steve had been a little nervous that he’d pushed Bucky a little too much. But now Bucky chuckles. Flips through the menu with that cool sense of confidence Steve’s grown used to. “What if I wanna order the New York Sirloin?”

Which is a sixteen ounce, center cut Black Angus steak. An almost forty dollar dish. Steve looks up over the top of his menu and grins with a quick one-shoulder shrug. 

“If that’s what you want,” he answers. “Today is about you.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky wiggles his eyebrows. “I think I like Bucky days.”

Of course he does. So does Steve. He’d make everyday Bucky day. Then maybe Bucky would start to see his worth. Slow and steady. Steve can help him take down those walls he’s built up around him. Brick by brick. Some of them built by the hands of others. 

As Bucky continues to go through the menu, he starts to mutter to himself. At first, Steve’s not sure what he’s talking about, until he realizes that Bucky’s actually reading the individual meals out loud to himself. Steve wonders if that’s something he always does. Maybe one day he’ll find out. Bucky also starts to squirm a bit in his seat. 

“How you doing over there, sweet boy?”

Bucky fights back a smirk, eyes still scanning over the meals to choose from. He grinds his ass a bit along the seat of his chair and blows a light raspberry.

“Just tryin’a pick between the reuben sandwich, the buffalo chicken wrap, and the salmon.” He lifts his eyes. They’re full of mischief and all the trouble he’s made of. “Nothin’ else.”

“Oh no?” 

That remote is calling to Steve. Practically begging to be turned on. All it would take is one push of a button.

“Nope. Why? _Should_ I be thinkin’a something, Steve?”

There’s a defiant tone to Bucky’s voice. Playful, but sassy. And his question is accompanied by another rub of his ass across the chair, this one hard enough that it actually makes him groan softly. Embellished of course, but not completely voluntary. Trying to push Steve. Maybe even testing to see if Steve’ll push back. 

Steve’s hand slips into his pocket. He turns the remote over a few times, his fingers sliding against the smooth buttons. No. Not yet. He can afford to let Bucky think he has some slack. Room to test as many boundaries as he wants. 

For now though…

Steve reaches across the table and takes Bucky’s menu away, ignoring the little “wait… hey!” Bucky gives when he does. He puts it to the side of his place setting and just goes back to reading his own. Bucky’s staring at him. Slack jawed and bug eyed. Steve smirks and flicks his gaze at him.

“You’ll know what you’re having when I order it for you,” he murmurs. Almost taunting, but soft enough that it’s not quite there yet. “Understand?”

Bucky’s hips thrust forward. That makes his eyes squeeze shut since he probably didn’t expect the sudden grind of the plug. A whimper falls from his lips. 

“Y-yes, sir,” he whispers. 

Bucky struggles a little with staying still after that. It’s not enough for anyone on the outside to notice, but here, in their private little world, Steve can tell all the tiny shifts and innocent sounds are the result of Bucky being so full for so long. Now that real attention’s been called to the plug, it looks as though it’s the only thing he can think about. 

When their server -- a young lady no older than Bucky -- comes over, her eyes are instantly drawn to him. Not that Steve can blame her, especially when Bucky winks at her. She smiles and introduces herself as America and asks how they’re doing this afternoon.

“We’re doing fantastic,” Bucky answers for the both of them. It’s not a lie anyway. “We went to see _Phantom of the Opera_.”

“Oh I _love Phantom_!” She says. Very friendly. Obviously responding to Bucky’s natural charm. “Are ya’ll visiting from somewhere? You here for the holidays?”

“Uh-ah,” Bucky replies. Chin in his hand as he peers up at her with that cute little grin of his. “We’re from Brooklyn. Actually!” He points a finger at Steve without looking at him. “Stevie here just moved back from California.”

“No way, really?” America glances over at Steve. “I’ve never been. Was it nice?”

“Pretty nice,” Steve tells her. “Really different from here.”

“Stevie got homesick,” Bucky teases. Even though he’s very aware there’s a lot more to Steve’s motives for coming home. “He missed me.”

“I didn’t even know you,” he points out. 

“Fate. Destiny. The _stars aligning_!” Bucky throws his arms out and smirks. “Everything happens for a reason? You came back to meet me, I’m tellin’ ya.”

He might not be that far off. Despite all the conditions and different circumstances surrounding their relationship -- however it might be defined -- meeting Bucky has been one of the best things that’s happened to Steve.

“So, how ‘bout it?” America asks. “Are ya’ll ready to order or do you need a few more minutes?”

Since she’s looking at Bucky when she asks, it’s Bucky who goes to answer. The smile that’s been on his face falters when he opens his mouth. 

“Oh…” he says softly. As though suddenly realizing he might not have an answer to that. 

He looks to Steve and Steve just crosses his arms and smirks. Waits to see what Bucky will do.

Which happens to be blushing like crazy and trying a few times, and failing, to say something coherent. 

“Um… it’s, uh…” Bucky clears his throat and with it comes a nervous giggle. “It’s up to, um, Steve. Steve’ll order.”

“For both of you?” she asks. When Bucky nods, she simply turns her attention to Steve. “Okay then, what’re you having? Or do you still want some time?”

“No, I think we’re all set.” Steve picks up his menu again so that he can point out the dishes he’ll be ordering. “We’ll start with the combo platter.”

America nods as she jots it down. “That comes with buffalo wings. Do you want classic, mild, or spicy sauce?”

“Classic, please,” he requests. “Then I’ll have the oven roasted BLT.” Steve gives her a moment to write it down. “And he’ll have the rueben.”

“Can… can I…” Bucky’s voice is small and shy. “Can I have extra cheese on that?”

Steve’s entire body lights up in flames. Bucky doesn’t look at America to ask for that. He’s not ordering it on his own. He’s looking at Steve. Asking _him_ for that permission. 

Pretending to think about that at first -- really if Steve tried to answer right away, nothing but air would come out -- Steve asks America to request _one_ extra slice of cheese for Bucky’s sandwich. After asking if they want drinks -- Steve asks for two sodas -- America thanks them and goes to put their orders in. 

Bucky’s shuffling about in his seat again. Seems that Steve actually ordering for him has all sorts of sensations stirring through him. 

“You like that, don’t you?” Steve asks. Voice low and suggestive. Foot nudging against Bucky’s ankle. “You like when I take control like that, huh? Me deciding what you’re allowed to have. Telling you what you need.”

That has Bucky fighting off a tremble. He seems unable to keep back the tiny whine that escapes his throat. 

“Yes,” he whispers. Bucky has shut his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

“I like you like this,” Steve adds. “Needing my permission. Letting me take care of you. I won’t hurt you, Bucky.”

Bucky’s eyes open. In them is haze and daydreams. Starry nights that hold all the brightness of the galaxy.

“I know,” he breathes.

Only he doesn’t know. Not really. For all the conditioning and heartache, Bucky’s trust only goes so far. There’s only so much he’s willing to give Steve. It’s so much more than Steve’s ever imagined, but it stops. With good reason, of course, but that doesn’t lessen the hurt. Trust hits a brick wall and refuses to slither through any cracks and crevices that have managed to break through. 

By the time their appetizer comes -- a huge platter of wings, chicken bites, mozzarella sticks, and fries -- Bucky’s managed to settle down a bit. Though he’s now on his second glass of soda since he’s sucked the first one down like the damn Sahara desert took up residence in his throat. He’s still fidgeting about. Now trying to find _some_ position that gives him relief or comfort for longer than just a few minutes. 

“All day?” Bucky asks as he picks at a few more fries. “You’re killin’ me, sir.”

Steve chuckles. “Color, baby. If it’s that bad…”

He trails off when Bucky shakes his head. Tells him, “Green. Green, green, green.” Bucky flicks his eyebrows up and slides his tongue over his top lip. “I can handle it. I’d tell ya if I couldn’t. And I kinda like it.”

“Oh imagine that,” Steve snickers. “You like to have something up your ass.”

Bucky snorts and shoves half mozzarella stick in his mouth. Very unelegant. Mouth stuffed, he makes a show of swallowing before sticking his tongue out.

“What I _meant_ was having _your_ plug in me,” he clarifies. “But, I mean, y’know, you’re right anyway.”

A blush blossoms across Steve’s chest. Bucky likes to have _his_ toy inside of him. To be filled by _Steve_ all day.

As they work their way through the of the platter and then their meals -- which is cooked to perfection and completely delicious -- Steve goes on to talk to Bucky about everyday things. 

Apparently, Bucky’s dad was a Dodgers fan, but Bucky’s betrayed him by favoring the Yankees. A good choice in Steve’s opinion. He was a gymnast when he was younger -- _right till Pop died. I was pretty good, too_ \-- and he played varsity basketball in high school. Though Steve’s already guessed that Bucky loves to dance, he finds out that he’s had lessons from Natasha’s mother who owns her own studio. His background in gymnastics has apparently helped in his ability to, in Bucky’s words, _bust a move_. 

“I was in the drama club, too,” Bucky tells him. “Love to be on stage.”

“Gee, really?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I did some modeling also. After I, well, after all that stuff happened? The, uh, drinkin’ and…” He stops himself there. It isn’t necessary for him to go on anyway. Steve knows what he means. “Uh, yeah, so, I did… that. Modeled. Just a few shots. It was fun.”

“I never did anything like that,” Steve says. “But I _did_ make an excellent tree number one in my fifth grade’s rendition of _Snow White_.”

Bucky laughs so hard at that he almost spits his soda out. He does, in fact, have to cover his mouth to keep it from spilling out. 

“Oh my god, you nerd,” he teases. “Could you play sports or anything, though? I mean, with your asthma and heart stuff and all?”

“No, I didn’t really play any sports. Sometimes I’d play stickball with my friends, but I couldn’t do much. Not when I was younger. Told ya, I was pretty small and really scrawny back then.” Steve shrugs. “Plus the meds I had weren’t nearly as good as what I have now. When I got older though, I took kickboxing. And I do yoga. Or did. I haven’t practiced since I got back.”

Humming softly, Bucky closes his eyes and tilts his head back. Steve’s not sure what that means.

“Just tryin’a picture you all sweaty and in yoga pants and in all those sexy positions.” Bucky rattles his head, opening his eyes with a smirk. “Maybe I shouldn’t.”

Face smothered in his right hand, Steve chuckles. While that sounds like a line Bucky’d use on a customer, he’s no longer sure if he’s paying for compliments or if Bucky’s just handing them out because he really means them. 

“I, um,” Steve stutters a bit. Fumbles over another flattered laugh and finally regains some sense. “I took French. I speak it fluently. And I was always in some sort of art class. Mama bought me this art set when I was first in junior high cause I was always doodling and stuff. She said she loved to see the world through my eyes.”

Steve is scooping some mashed potatoes up when Bucky asks him what should be a simple, ordinary question. But it catches Steve so off guard, a lump forms in his throat. 

“What was your mom’s name?”

Eyes flicking up to Bucky’s face, Steve stops chewing and just stares at him for a second. The answer is sitting right on his tongue. His mother’s name. One of Steve’s favorite names ever. Beautiful. Even the meaning. 

Bucky’s mouth falls open as though he can’t believe he just asked Steve that. Which is ridiculous. There’s no reason for Steve not to be able to answer such a simple question. 

“Oh I… I’m sorry, Steve,” Bucky apologizes. “You don’t like to talk about--”

“Sarah,” Steve whispers. Feels an immediate sense of relief and a rush of tears at the same time. “Her name was Sarah.”

The honored look on Bucky’s face is enough to tell Steve he understand how big of a deal this is for him. Steve doesn’t know why it’s so hard to talk about her. The woman who raised him on her own. He should be regaling the whole world with tales of the woman who was always his hero. Who taught him how to stand tall and not back down.

“Like…” Bucky clears his throat. Takes his time with this delicate topic. “Like _The Litte Princess_.”

Steve smiles. “I used to think she was a princess. Her name means princess and everything.”

“She looked like a princess, too,” Bucky compliments. “She was beautiful, Steve.”

That smile is still on Steve’s face as he goes on to tell Bucky that she was a nurse.

“Pediatrics,” he says. “She loved kids. She worked so hard.” Steve closes his eyes as the memories flood through him. “But she, I mean, she worked for everything and she still had time for me no matter what.”

“Like… what?” Bucky whispers. With caution. Unsure if maybe he’s pushing too much.

But Steve just offers another grin and answers, “Parent/teacher conferences. She never missed one. All my class plays and every silly kid award I ever got. Even for perfect attendance.” Bucky chuckles. Steve goes on. “She was at my side during each hospital trip and that was actually a lot. She always supported me. Every dream I had, my sexuality, all the struggles when I was smaller. She never let me give up.”

Steve says he can still hear her singing John Lennon’s _Beautiful Boy_ to him and still feel the tips of her fingers on the back of his neck when she’d comfort him. Her favorite color was pink and her favorite movie was _The Wizard of Oz_. 

Steve doesn’t realize Bucky’s taken hold of his hand until he feels the squeeze around it. There’re tears in Bucky’s eyes. Just like in Steve’s. 

“Do you think…” Bucky has to cough since his voice has cracked. “Do you think she’d’ve… liked me? Y’know, even though I’m no good to be around?”

The pain that touches Steve’s heart is indescribable. All those insecurities right out on the surface for the world to see. Rare moments for Bucky since he holds them in so well, even to the point where they don’t _always_ bother him. But Bucky’s been showing Steve more of his layers. Letting them slowly peel away one at a time. Steve wants so badly to reach into Bucky’s soul and take all that away. He turns their hands over so that he can secure Bucky’s in his. 

“C’mere,” he murmurs. Tugs a little and Bucky offers no resistance, even in this restaurant. Full of people to see. He just let’s Steve guide him to his lap. “I think she’d trust my judgement. So yes, baby, she’d like you. I think, if anything, she’d be worried for you. Like I am.”

Bucky looks as though he’s stuck between wanting to cry and wanting to smile. There’s also a part that seems to want to lash out. Those insecurities rising against Steve’s affection. That part wins. Sort of.

“I can take care of myself,” Bucky mumbles. There’s no aggression to it though. Nothing to suggest that he’s trying to fight. 

“I know that. But that doesn’t mean I don’t worry about you. I want you to be safe, Bucky. And so would Mama.”

“Brock use’ta say he worried about me,” he whispers. Then shrugs. “Now I got no idea if he meant it. Ever.” Bucky fights back the fall of his face. “He’s really never gonna talk to me again, is he?”

It’s not so much that Bucky’s asked _Steve_ the question. It just comes out. Heartbroken. 

Steve wants to tell him that it’s better this way. That Brock’s no good for him and this will help him move on. He doesn’t. It wouldn’t help. Not now.

“It’s his loss, baby,” Steve says instead. He’s not sure if Bucky really wants an answer, but it’s all Steve can give. “I know it doesn’t feel like that now, Buck, but he’s the one who lost by giving you up.”

Bucky’s not really looking at him, but he pulls his lips up in something of a smile before running the back of his arm across his eyes. Then looks up at Steve as though nothing’s happened. 

“So what about you, Steve?” He asks. “What would it take for you to never see me again?”

Because of course Steve would have a reason. At least, Bucky assumes it. Others have left him. Why would he believe Steve will stay? 

“Nothing,” Steve murmurs. Runs a hand softly at the back of Bucky’s neck. “Nothing you can do will ever make me not want to see you.” 

The eyes that have been regarding Steve so carefully close softly. Bucky whispers Steve’s name before letting his head rest gently on Steve’s collarbone. Steve puts his arms around him. Bucky’s tense, as though unwilling to melt into the embrace. 

“How ya’ll doing here?” America asks, appearing at their table just a minute or so later. “Can I get you any dessert?”

The second her voice is heard, Bucky clutched tighter to Steve. Squeezing his eyes shut, he buries his face in Steve’s shirt.

“Hey, sweet boy,” Steve whispers to him. “Do you want to leave? Or do you want some dessert?”

Bucky sniffles as though he’s been holding in tears. He rubs his finger under his nose and peers up at Steve without lifting his head off the spot it’s on.

“That… chocolate mousse cake looks good,” he says. Sounds so small and meek. 

Steve smiles and grazes the back of his hand along Bucky’s cheek. He pecks a kiss to the tip of Bucky’s nose.

“You want me to order that for you, sweetheart?”

Bucky whispers, “Please.” 

“You got it, baby.” Steve puts that order in. Just one slice for Bucky. When America leaves again, Steve takes to rubbing a hand over Bucky’s back. “You okay, Bucky?”

“Mm. Yeah, I’m good.” Bucky nuzzles his head against Steve’s chest and then wiggles a bit. “Can’t stop thinkin’ about all the shit you’re gonna do to me when we get back to your place.”

“Oh really?” He murmurs. Steve’s sure that’s not entirely true. There’s probably other things on his mind. If Bucky wants to let it be for now, then Steve will too. “But I haven’t _told_ you what I want to do to you. For all you know I’m going to take that plug out, tease you the rest of the night and then send you home just _aching_ to get off. But you won’t, will you, sweet boy?” Bucky’s now completely still in his arms. Doe eyed with his lips turned in as he listens to Steve. Hanging onto every word said. “Mm. No you won’t. Not without permission. Because you’re my good boy. Right?” 

The outline of Bucky’s cock is just showing through his pants. He whimpers and leans forward to kiss Steve. Only Steve quickly puts his hand out. Presses fingertips against the incoming lips that he’s usually so powerless to resist.

“Isn’t that _right_ , Bucky?” Steve insists. 

His fingers are still over Bucky’s mouth, but those lips still turn up to form the answer Steve is looking for.

“Right, Steve. S-sir,” he whines. Bucky squirming right there on Steve’s lap. Pushing the plug the way he wants it. “Please, sir?”

“Please?”

“L-later… can I…?”

Steve chuckles and kisses Bucky’s cheek.

“Breathe, baby,” he says. “And we’ll see. But for now…” Steve eases Bucky up to his feet. He’s a little wobbly at first, by just the slightest step to the right and then to the left before he’s balanced. “Sit back in your seat and enjoy your dessert.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Bucky sees what Steve already did. America is coming back over with his cake. He slides along the edge of the table to slip back in his chair unnoticed. It’d be unusual for anyone to see the bit of tenting going on in his pants -- and that’d only be if they were staring hard at Bucky’s crotch -- but he moves quickly anyway.

“Here we are, boys,” America announces as she puts the plate down in the middle of the table. “I brought you two forks, just in case you wanted to share.”

“Thank you.” Steve grins at her and asks for the check. She actually has it all ready for him so Steve hands his credit card over. America tells him she’ll be right back and Steve nudges the plate closer to Bucky. “Go on. Tell me if it’s good.”

Sparkles dance around in Bucky’s eyes as he reaches for the fork, never taking his gaze off Steve. The cake, Steve has to admit, looks delectable. Soft, fluffy chocolate topped with a thick layer of fudge and drizzled with just a bit of white chocolate. Bucky cuts into it and scoops a piece into his mouth.

The second it’s on his tongue, Bucky closes his eyes and chews so slowly it’s like he’s trying to savor the taste forever.

“ _Oh_ my _god_ ,” he hums with his mouth still full. “This is _delicious_.” Bucky swallows that piece and pushes the plate to Steve’s side. “You gotta try this.”

But Steve just slides the plate back. Feels that involuntary grin turning his mouth up. 

“No, no. This one’s all for you,” Steve says. “I’ll have my own dessert.”

Bucky’s digging right back into the cake. _Steve_ , on the other hand, is digging into his pocket for his own after dinner treat. Just as Bucky goes on praising the dessert, Steve pushes the button.

“You don’t know what you’re--” 

The rest of Bucky’s statement gets drowned out by the loud yelp that comes out instead. He jolts so suddenly that he hits something -- his knee probably -- on the bottom of the table and drops his fork on the plate. His eyes grow round as saucers. They roam from side to side as though he has no idea what’s going on. No idea where the vibrations that hum right against his sweet spot are coming from. So Steve just continues to look at him as though he doesn't know what’s going on either. 

“What’s the matter, Bucky?” He asks. Completely innocent and angelic like. “Are you okay?”

“I…” Bucky can’t seem to process what’s happening. His hands are gripping the sides of the table like he’s desperately hold onto some semblance of control. “I… I…”

Steve grins at him. Bucky’s eyes are already unfocused and he’s unable to hold back these tiny whimpers.

“Oh, this is gonna be fun,” Steve snickers. Earns himself daggers for that. “Eat your cake, sweet boy. I bought it for you.”

His jaw is clenched when he says, “O-okay… sir…”

Bucky rubs his hand over his eyes and draws in a long, deep breath before picking up his fork again. Hand trembling, he takes another piece. He’s still in the middle of chewing when America comes back over.

“Thank you so much,” she says as she hands everything back to Steve. “And if you come to the city to see anymore shows,” America turns her focus to Bucky, “I hope you’ll come in to let me know.”

Bucky opens his mouth to reply when Steve turns the plug off so he can do so with words and not some mortifying groan.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Sure thing. Th-thank you.”

America smiles politely, thanks them again, and goes on her way. The second she’s away from the table, Steve turns on the next setting, making the dull vibrations more powerful. It must sent a jolt of pleasure through Bucky’s entire body since his mouth snaps shut and balls his hands. 

“Do you wanna finish your cake, sweetheart?” Steve asks. “You only had a few bites.”

The way Bucky looks at him now, it’s something between a glare and the most pathetic puppy eyes. He obviously can’t tell if Steve expects him to actually finish the dessert or ask to be taken back to Steve’s.

“Um… I think I…” He gets no further. Steve switches the settings so that there’s a pulsation rather than a steady vibration going through him now. Bucky slaps his palm down on the table twice and then shakes his head. “No… no more cake. P-please, sir. C-can we g-go?”

“Hm,” Steve reaches over for the extra fork. He cuts into the cake and holds it up for Bucky. His mouth opens obediently and Steve takes a few extra minutes to feed him more of the cake. It’s about half done, Bucky’s starting to pant when Steve says, “Okay, Buck. Let’s go. We still have to take the train _all_ the way back to Brooklyn, y’know.”

Bucky’s pressing his fists into his eyes. He’s showing so much restraint right now Steve’s enjoyment can only be measured to his pride. 

Switching the plug off completely again -- and chuckling when Bucky signs out a grunt of relief -- Steve gets to his feet and helps Bucky to his. If he thought he was wobbly before, it’s nothing compared to now. He’s completely unsteady. Sways from side to side just trying to stand up.

Steve chuckles and puts a hand on Bucky’s shoulder to keep him still. He helps him into his jacket and even puts his gloves and scarf on for him. That alone makes a spacey smile pull up on his face. 

The sun has already set, leaving the city to shine and glitter on its own in the early evening. It’s when they’re outside, away from the intimate setting and too-close-for-comfort ears, that Bucky punches Steve in the arm. There’s very little strength to it, and seeing how Bucky’s still leaning up against him, it’s not very effective either.

“What was that for?” Steve chuckles. 

“You _fucker_ ,” Bucky mumbles. “I didn’t know this thing vibrated! I swear to god, I-- _eee_!”

Bucky’s body seizes against Steve’s side when the plug goes back on. He lets out another tiny squeal as he scrubs his face into Steve.

“Fucker, huh?” Steve tsks. “Is that really the way you should be talking to me?”

“ебать,” he mutters, face still pressed against Steve’s coat. “ебать, ебать!” Bucky whines and attempts to adjust himself while keeping at Steve’s pace. “Sorry, sir. _Mmm_ … M’sorry…”

Steve shows him mercy. He switches the remote to off and keeps it that way the whole time they walk. Even when they’re down in the subway waiting for their train. Bucky’s on edge now though. Taking peeks up at Steve and pouting and trying to stay perfectly still. Ready for that electric shock to buzz through his body at any second. 

The train ride back to Brooklyn, Steve gives him no pity. The second the train pulls away, Steve turns the vibrations back on, only switching it off during the brief stops at stations along the way. This time he forces Bucky to make conversations with him. It’s difficult for the kid, and most answers are grunts at best, but he manages to get them out. 

To make matters worse, Steve keeps on fiddling with the settings, and everytime he changes it up on Bucky, Bucky gives another jolt. As if grinding his ass over a New York subway seat isn’t bad enough. In fact, Steve’s not even sure Bucky’s aware he’s doing that. But it’s probably the only bit of relief he can get for himself. 

By the time the train is rolling into their stop, beads of sweat have formed all along Bucky’s forehead. His hand are pulled into tight fists, grabbing the fabric of his pants. He’s beyond answering Steve now, so Steve just lets him remain silent as he walks him back to his place. The plug on the lowest setting. Still, Bucky needs to walk slower, even if he wants to make a mad dash the two blocks they need to go. 

When Steve finally gets them to his door, Bucky’s trembling. He pins himself up against the wall and tries to keep his breathing steady. Futile efforts. Every gulp of air he takes is accompanied by a shaky whimper. Steve pulls out his keys. Rolls them over his key ring one by one.

“Oh god _please_ , sir,” Bucky whines. “ _Please_ …”

He needs to get inside. Get in there so he can fall apart and go limp in Steve’s arms and do it someplace safe. Honestly, it’s a miracle he’s made it this far. 

“My poor boy,” Steve says as he finally gets the door open. He takes Bucky by the wrist and pulls him in. “Here we are.”

The second the door is closed, Bucky’s weight is pressed against it. His knees are shaking. Ready to give out and send him to the floor. 

“Steve…” he pants. “Sir, I… I need… _please_ …”

There’s one more setting Steve hasn’t tried yet. The strongest one. Steve pulls out the remote and dangles it in front of Bucky. Bucky gets the idea and he makes the most pitiful expression Steve’s ever seen on him.

“No…” he whimpers. Shakes his head back and forth as a few tears slip out of his eyes. “нет, нет… пожалуйста, сэр…”

That’s not ‘red’. Not their safeword, so Steve’s fingers click the button one last time. Bucky rears his head back with an unrestrained howl. Eyes rolling back, his knees finally give and he starts to drop. Steve catches him just in time, dropping the remote with a soft thud on the carpet. He hoists him back up and pins Bucky against the door. 

He grabs Bucky’s wrists and presses them above his head and then Steve grinds his crotch against Bucky’s. Just once before simply leaving himself pressed against him. 

“So beautiful,” Steve praises. Peppers kisses all up Bucky’s neck, across his throat and over his face. “So fucking pretty you are. All needy for me. Helpless. How bad do you need my touch?”

“так много,” Bucky pleads. English now beginning to really fail him. “я нуждаюсь в тебе, сэр.”

“You’re gonna make a mess, y’know,” he taunts, pretending to care about such a thing. “All over my clothes. And you don’t even care, do you? 

All Bucky can do is gape helplessly as his breaths back up on him. He’s still trying to answer though. Like a good boy. Mouth attempting to form word after word and only getting shouts of unashamed desire out. 

“Oh god, you’re so perfect, Bucky.” Steve’s not even sure if he can hear him anymore. Tears glisten in his dazed eyes. “So perfect…”

Steve starts grinding their hips together. Holds Bucky where he is as Bucky keeps sobbing out his name and grinding back harder. The only thing keeping Bucky on his feet is Steve’s weight there to brace him.

“Боже мой! пожалуйста, пожалуйста! сэр, мне нужно…” Those tears are overflowing now. “пожалуйста…”

“Come, sweet boy,” Steve growls in his ear. “You’ve been so good. It’s gonna feel so good, baby. Just let it out.”

Whatever Bucky says next is something of a blend of English and Russian. Maybe just some made up words tossed in there as well. But he’s utterly powerless to do anything but listen and let his body take over. His back tries to arch forward, only to be kept right where it is by Steve’s body. The noises that come out of him are barely human. A wrecked sob and a gargled scream and suddenly the front of his pants are moist with his release.

The second Steve knows Bucky’s coming, he releases the hold he’s had on the boy’s wrists. His arms topple over Steve’s shoulders. Dead weight. And as his climax really hits, Bucky falls forward as well. Right into Steve’s arms. Blacking out for a few heartbeats.

“I got you, baby,” Steve comforts as he lowers them both to the floor. Bucky’s already coming to, and he hisses. Overstimulation now getting to him in only painful ways. “Hang on, sweetheart, I’ll make it stop.”

Steve snatches the remote and clicks everything off. The response in Bucky is immediate. His entire body goes lax in Steve’s arms. He’s practically hanging over him. Arms dangling off Steve’s shoulders, head bobbing into his neck. 

Petting a hand over Bucky’s head, Steve rocks him gently as Bucky just rests on him.

“You did so well, baby boy,” Steve praises. “You make me so happy. I’m so proud of you. My good boy.”

They stay like that for several minutes. Bucky slung over Steve while Steve goes on to praise and comfort. Reassuring Bucky that he’s safe. That he can come back whenever he wants. Steve’s not sure if Bucky actually hit subspace this time or not -- everything happened in a matter of minutes -- but he’s here to guide him back if he did. 

After a little bit, Steve feels Bucky’s lips pucker against the side of his neck. It’s light, just a feather of a kiss, but it’s still the most coherent thing Bucky’s done on his own since they got in. His arms then wrap around Steve’s neck. The embrace is weak and shaky, but it’s there.

“Hey,” Steve whispers. “You with me, Buck?”

“Mm-mm,” Bucky replies. “измученный. не могу говорить.”

Steve chuckles and holds him closer. “I can’t understand you, baby.”

He’s answered with a weak, disgruntled groan as Bucky attempts to translate his words. His nose nuzzles into Steve’s neck a bit as he does.

“Too tired,” He says. “Don’t wanna talk.”

“Okay.” Steve turns his head just enough so that he can kiss Bucky’s cheek. “You don’t have to talk. But can you stand?”

“Jelly,” he mumbles.

“Jelly?”

“мои ноги.” Bucky huffs and tries for more English. “My legs. Jelly.”

Steve gets it. If Bucky tries to stand now it probably won't do much good. He might just end up back on the floor.

"Okay. But I'm gonna get you out of these clothes," Steve murmurs. "You can rest but..." He drops his gaze and zeroes on Bucky. As if knowing this, Bucky lifts his head to give Steve his full attention. "I'm not done with you yet."

A smirk pulls up on Bucky’s face. His eyes are still droopy, but he nods before putting his head back down. 

“Mmm,” Bucky hums and snuggles closer around Steve. “Yes, sir.”

Steve gives him a few more minutes to just do nothing. Nothing but sit there being held. Which is making Steve’s heart pound harder than it should. Bucky’s put up no fight, no argument of any kind. Not that he really could, given the fact his body just sort of ended up here, but he’s done nothing to try to pull away. After fooling around. 

“Hey,” Steve murmurs after another ten minutes. “Will you be okay if I go get you some water?”

Bucky sighs as though Steve’s request is completely ludicrous before peeling away from Steve and slipping to the floor. He props himself against the side of the couch and huffs.

“You gonna get me outta these clothes?” he grumbles. 

The fake irritation is pretty cute right now. Bucky looks like a feisty little kitten and just as threatening. 

Steve narrows his eyes, feigning annoyance, and presses a hand down on the wet spot that’s spread on Bucky’s pants. It causes Bucky to whine and squirm unpleasantly. 

“Yup,” Steve answers with a satisfied nod of his head. Already working the button open and zipper down. “Lift up.”

Doing as he’s told, Bucky plants his hands on the floor and picks himself up enough to make it easier for Steve to pull everything below his waist off. Once it’s all off, and he plops back down, he smiles at Steve.

“You’re too kind,” he murmurs. Eyes closed and head back. “Thanks, Stevie.”

“You’re welcome, sweet boy.” Steve uses the boxers to clean Bucky off. He pats the top of Bucky’s head before getting to his feet. “Just wait here.” Emptying the pockets of Bucky’s things, Steve puts his stuff on the coffee table. “I’ll get you some water. Then I’ll get that thing out of you.”

Fingers rising to his brow, Bucky gives him a lazy salute, assuring Steve it’s okay to leave. 

The evening melts around him as he goes off to fetch what he needs for Bucky. What’s left of it anyway. So many hours have already bled away to bring them here. And Steve finds himself with only one left. He can’t waste a single drop of it. 

Steve hurries. Ditches the dirtied clothes in the hamper and grabs a condom from his nightstand drawer. He shoves it in his back pocket, grabs the blanket Bucky used last night, and doubles back for the living room. Almost forgetting the water he’s promised Bucky in the process. He grunts at his own forgetfulness and darts into the kitchen. 

The hum of the refrigerator tells Steve to relax. He can rush around all he wants, it won’t stop time from ticking. And if he runs out to Bucky now, he just might start spilling everything. Beg Bucky to stay. Plead with him to believe how much Steve really does love him. Promise he’ll never leave him for the reasons Bucky assumes Steve -- or anyone -- will never fully accept in him. 

None of that will do anything. In fact, it’d probably just do more damage than good. Push Bucky away. Pull _all_ those walls back up.

No, rushing around won’t pay off. If Steve ever wants a shot at convincing Bucky to give a relationship with him a chance, he’s got to handle it delicately. Trying to slice through layers in one fell swoop won’t do any good. 

So Steve takes in a deep breath, reaches for a bottle of water in the back of the fridge, and then hears a very loud, high pitched whine from the living room. 

“ _St-ee-ve-uh_! Hurry up!”

Steve chuckles, grabs that bottle of water, and is rushing again. 

He finds Bucky in the same position he left him in only now he’s a lot more awake. Energy replenished. Well, enough that he’s no longer fully needing the couch for support and he glances up at Steve with an excited gleam in his eye.

“What’dya get lost, sir?” he asks, even though Steve really only took about two minutes. 

Steve clicks his tongue and drapes the blanket over the back of the couch before holding out the water for Bucky. Only Bucky doesn’t take it. Goes to, but pulls his hand back at the last second. Steve glances at the bottle. It, too, is confused. When he looks back to Bucky for an explanation -- maybe this water is offensive for some reason -- Steve can see that unsure expression on his face. Like the one Bucky wore last night when asking for a bath. 

Instead of pushing or prodding, Steve gives Bucky the time he needs to gather the courage to ask for whatever it is he wants. There’s a few moments of struggling and Bucky never does find his voice. He finally just peers up at Steve and lets his mouth open, hoping for understanding. Which he has.

Steve smiles and crouches down in front of him. Opens the water and holds the bottle to Bucky’s lips. He lets him take a few sips, gives him a second to breathe, and then gives him more. 

Almost half the bottle is gone by the time Steve sets it aside. The pad of his thumb proves useful enough to dry the corners of Bucky’s mouth.

“Good?” Steve checks.

“Mhm. Thank you, sir.”

“Okay then.” He gets back to his feet. Slips hands under Bucky’s arms and helps him up as well. “Let’s get that thing out of you, shall we?” Steve lowers Bucky over the arm of the couch. “Just stay still.”

Steve gets down on his knees behind Bucky. He pushes Bucky’s legs further apart. That makes Bucky whine a bit. The plug looks delicious inside of him. So much so that Steve presses kisses along Bucky’s ass before slowly and gently removing it. 

Bucky’s hole flutters around it as Steve pulls it out, watching it stretch out around the plug itself. Trying to stay still for Steve, Bucky’s breaths keep catching. They come out in ragged whimpers. Hand on the inside of Bucky’s thigh, Steve rubs and massages right until the plug pops out. 

As soon as Steve has a chance to see how open the plug has left Bucky, he can’t help himself. Lust and desire completely take over and he’s licking all around the spot. He’s gentle, after all the stimulation his sweet boy just handled, Steve doesn’t want to push him too far, too fast. 

At first Bucky tenses. Tenses with a gasp and then goes pliant against the arm of the couch. Bends to Steve’s will completely as Steve licks and laps and pulls sweet whimpers from his good boy. 

Steve keeps at it for a solid twenty minutes. Gently circling his tongue around Bucky’s hole, moving it in and out, pressing soft kisses. His chin is coated in his own saliva and Bucky’s panting hard against the couch cushions. Fully erect again. 

As he continues licking Bucky -- sticking his tongue inside of his body and spreading his cheeks to push even more -- Steve slips a finger in. Slides it in and out, twists it this way and that, alongside his tongue. Bucky moans into the pillows. Muffling the sounds of what might actually be a scream. Guttural and needy. He’s shaking and trying to say things only to have all his words turn into grunts. 

Bucky’s knees tremble as he thrusts into the arm of the couch. Trying for as much friction as he can possibly get. The only word he manages to get out is _please_. Over and over and over.

“You wanna come again, sweet boy?” Steve asks. Barely even moving away from what he’s doing. “ _Three_ times today?”

“I…” Bucky moans again. His hand keeps slipping over the side of the couch as though he means to take hold of himself. He doesn’t though. Stays good for Steve no matter how badly he wants to touch. “Please… I… пожалуйста… _please_ …”

“Mmm.” Steve takes a moment to just lick some more and add another finger. “So greedy. My sweet boy is just so greedy today, isn’t he?” That makes Bucky whine and grind up against the couch even more. Taking hold of his hips, Steve stops him and says, “You think you can come just from my tongue?”

Without giving Bucky a chance to answer, Steve’s digging his tongue back into Bucky’s ass. 

“Yes!” Bucky squeals. “Yes! да, да… пожалуйста, сэр.” He gasps and tries to wiggle about even though Steve’s still got a firm grip on him. Fingers pressed deeply into skin. “Please… oh, Steve, please say I can…”

Steve doesn’t answer. He just keeps his hold on Bucky’s hips and devours every inch of him that he can. Bucky’s squirming about in his grip, letting out breathy moans and desperate gasps.

“Oh _please_ , sir!” he cries. Whimpers and whines and pants. “I’m so… so close… please tell me what to do!”

Only then does Steve cease his ministrations and move away just enough that all Bucky can feel now is his hot breath hitting his exposed skin. Steve slaps his hand down over Bucky’s right cheek. Grabs hold of it and rakes his fingernails across is. Bucky yelps and jolts up before plopping back down.

“Don’t _move_ ,” Steve orders. 

He shimmies out of his own pants now. Reaches inside his pocket to yank out the condom he stashed in there before. Before putting it on, he gives Bucky another lick. Pulls another needy whine from him. Getting to his feet, Steve slowly kisses up Bucky’s spine. Right at the base of his neck, Steve takes hold of his shoulders and hoists him up, turns him around and lowers him down on his back. Legs back and ass up on the arm of the couch. Bucky peers up at him, eyes round and mouth slacked. A perfect display just for Steve. Oh how he wishes he could keep him. 

“Do not touch yourself,” Steve says as he lowers himself to his knees. “If you’re going to come, you come from my tongue and my tongue alone, got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky whispers. “Does that mean… can I…?”

“Arms above your head,” he orders. Smiles when Bucky does it without question. “Yes, good boy. That means you can come when you want to. Just tell me when you’re close.”

Nodding, Bucky drops his head back down in anticipation and groans something out in Russian when Steve gets back to it. He parts Bucky’s cheeks again and darts his tongue in and out. Licks soft lines along his hole. _Grazes_ the tip of his tongue around it which makes Bucky whine _every_ time. Every now and then Steve will poke around with his finger. Add just the tip of it to tease Bucky even more. A few times Steve can tell he almost yanks his arms down, probably _aching_ to grab himself. He refrains though. Stays so good for Steve while he sobs his name and gasps and pants and anytime he screams how close he is again, Steve backs off. 

“ _Fuck_!” Bucky shouts when Steve stops for the fifth time. “I _need_ to come, sir!”

Steve chuckles, “I told you, go ahead.”

“But I _can’t_!” he whines. “You keep _stopping_!”

“Oh so it’s _my_ fault you can’t come?”

Steve peaks over Bucky’s body to watch him struggle with that one. His mouth opens a few times and yet all he can manage is a few _I… I…_

“It’s a simple question, sweet boy,” Steve teases. Shoves _two_ fingers inside of his needy boy without any warning and causing Bucky to jerk up and yelp. “Yes or no, baby?”

“ _Oh_ yes!” He sobs. “Yes, sir, yes.”

“Aw, you mean little thing,” Steve coos as he drags his fingers _just_ along Bucky’s prostate. “Here I am doing all this work and you gotta go and make me feel bad when I’m trying _so_ hard for you.”

Bucky lets out a disgruntled chuckle through clenched teeth. His fingers are balled tightly and he shakes his head. 

“You fucker,” he mutters. “You’re such an ass.”

Steve laughs and says, “There ya go, Buck, being all mean again.”

He presses his tongue hard and flat against Bucky’s hole with his fingers still there. Bucky grunts over whatever it is he tries to say next and this time, when he says he’s close, Steve just takes those fingers out. Keeps his tongue right where it is. Licks and laps and sucks as Bucky shouts out moan after moan after moan. 

The very second a drop of come spurts out of Bucky’s dick, Steve grabs hold of him and starts to pump. He stands up immediately and pushes his own dick right on home. Feels the rush of relief blanket around him so perfectly as he thrusts in and out. Bucky squirms and shouts under Steve’s touch as that hand works him through his third orgasm of the day. 

“Steve!” Bucky screams when Steve keeps his hand moving. Even after Bucky’s stopped coming. “No! Oh please, _please_ , no more!” 

“Come on, sweet boy,” Steve grunts. “You have one more in you, I know it.”

“нет, нет!” he pleads. Head tossing back from side to side. “Oh fuck… oh _fuck_ … Боже мой!”

“I know it hurts, baby,” he sooths. “I know it does, but you can do it. For me, sweet boy.”

Running his free hand over Bucky’s hair, Steve finally lets go of Bucky’s cock. It’s left hard and tender and Steve knows if he does this right he can squeeze just one more out of Bucky. Make him feel nothing but what Steve’s doing. Pain and pleasure mixing together to form one delirious thought.

“Steve…” Bucky whimpers.

Steve slows his pace just a bit so he can check in properly. He runs his thumb across Bucky’s lip. Bucky’s eyes close and he licks the tip of it.

“Gimme a color, good boy.”

Eyes opening, Bucky sucks in a deep breath and nods.

“G-green, sir,” he pants. Lifts his arms and then thinks better of it. “P-please…”

“You can move your arms.”

Bucky does. He throws them on Steve and seems to be trying to climb up in Steve’s embrace. More than willing to oblige, Steve tucks his arms under Bucky and hoists him up. Balances him on the arm of the couch as he thrusts into him. 

“You ready, sweet boy?”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Bucky drops his head down to Steve’s shoulder and nods. With that okay, Steve wraps fingers around Bucky’s dick again and jerks his hand over it. Bucky throws his head back with a shriek, flinging arms and legs around Steve’s body as though trying to get as close to him as possible. 

“Oh fuck, you’re so perfect, Bucky,” Steve praises as Bucky shouts and squirms. Adds kisses to the side of Bucky’s face and neck. “I l… you’re so good for me. My good boy.”

“Steve,” Bucky whimpers. Fights back tears though the few that slip out Steve kisses away. “It… it…”

Still moving in and out of him, Bucky’s tight body fitting around Steve like he’s been forged from Steve’s own personal heaven, Steve slows his hand.

“Tell me if it’s too much, Buck,” he says. “Don’t forget your safeword.”

But Bucky just shakes his head. Teeth grinding together, not only does he bounce into Steve’s hips, he thrusts into his hand some more.

“Wanna…” He grunts and needs a second. “Wanna be yours… your… property…” Steve’s stomach clenches blissfully. Whether or not it’s just the heat of the moment doesn’t matter. His head swirls with dizzy delight. “Wanna make… you… proud.”

“Aw, sweet boy,” Steve holds him tighter. Pushing in just right and hitting that perfect spot just enough that Bucky cries out more and shudders around him. “You _do_ make me proud.”

Steve doesn’t know what does it, the way his cock keeps pushing up against Bucky’s prostate or the way he tells his sweet boy that he’s proud, but Bucky’s entire body tenses tightly around him. He’s trembling and shaking and might be shouting he’s going to come since he’s no longer in control of his body. He’s given that control to Steve. Even if it’s just for this moment, Bucky’s handed everything to him. And Steve won’t let him fall.

“Let go, Bucky, go ahead,” he says. Soft and gently. Lips at the side of Bucky's neck. “My good boy. So proud’a you. I won’t hurt you. Let go…”

“S-Steve…” Bucky squeaks and then _does_ let go. 

Another orgasm within minutes of his last. There’s not much semen and he’s crying through it, but Bucky lets it happen. Trusts Steve enough at least to give him this one moment and seals it with a kiss. Bucky mouths at Steve’s lips like he’s hungry for them. _Needs_ them. 

The heat that barrels through Steve is too much and his whole world lights up in a spark of delectable ecstasy. Joy. Bliss. Rapture. All captured in one final thrust with the taste of heaven on his mouth. 

Buzzing with life and yet drained of all energy, Steve just holds onto Bucky when he slumps in his arms. For the second time this evening. Bucky’s panting loud and heavy. Still trembling but feathering kisses into Steve’s neck. Steve trails fingers up and down his spine. Enough that his skin begins to quiver under the touch. 

“Hey,” Steve whispers after not moving for an indeterminable amount of time. “My sweet boy, are you okay?”

Bucky’s head shakes on Steve’s shoulder. He sucks in a deep breath and breathes out, “Mm-mm.”

Panic rushes through Steve. Squeezes the air right out of Steve’s lungs and puts lead in his stomach. He’s ready to drop to his knees and beg Bucky for forgiveness for _anything_ he did wrong. But then Bucky chuckles. 

“No, I mean… I’m _okay_ , just…” He sucks in another breath. “ _Holy_ shit.”

The relief that tingles through Steve’s bones isn’t even enough. He still feels that lingering panic. Not Bucky’s fault though. Steve pets a hand over him and slowly slides out. Bucky grunts as Steve gently lowers him onto the couch again. He pulls the blanket he brought out from the bedroom off the back of it and tucks it around Bucky.

Not only does Bucky not protest, he snuggles up with it and smiles at Steve once he’s comfortable. Sitting at the edge of the cushions, Steve picks up the discarded, but half-filled water bottle and opens it. Bucky opens his mouth without even being told. 

“I didn’t hurt you, did I, Bucky?” Steve asks. Running fingers through Bucky’s hair and tucking it softly behind his ear. “Please tell me if I--”

“You didn’t, Steve.” Bucky takes Steve’s hand and kisses it. “I knew you wouldn’t.”

“Bucky…” Steve breathes. And wants with every beat of his heart to tell him how much he loves him. “I… thank you, Bucky,” he says instead. “For trusting me.”

He’s said it before. Steve knows he has. But no amount of thanking this kid will ever convey just how much it means to Steve that Bucky will hand over even just a little bit of that trust to him. Especially after finding out how hard it must be for him. 

“Well…” Bucky shrugs. “Thanks for being awesome, grandpa narc.”

Steve chuckles. Asks if Bucky’ll be okay while he gets a washcloth to clean him up. Bucky smiles and nods. Makes himself even more comfortable on Steve’s couch while Steve goes to do just that. 

He gets a glimpse of the time on his way back. Five minutes to eight. Five minutes until this bubble pops and everything goes back to normal. 

“Turn over, sweet boy,” Steve says. Chokes back so many other words. “I’ll get you clean.”

Bucky sighs and makes a disgruntled little face. Like the thought of having to move is completely unbearable. Still, he rolls onto his back and lets Steve run the warm cloth over his belly. Lets himself be taken care of. 

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice is quiet. Nervous again. So Steve gives him his full attention. “Do you think… um, maybe, you could… or I could get a hug?”

“Of course, sweetheart.” Steve holds his arms out. Also holds in the fact that Bucky can stay in his arms for as long as he wanted and Steve wouldn’t complain. 

Bucky gives him that shy smile and slowly picks himself up. He doesn’t quite wrap a hug around Steve so much as leaning into him and letting Steve do the hugging. 

“Thank you, Steve,” he whispers. And pauses so at first Steve thinks he’s thanking him for the hug. Until Bucky says, “For, y’know, everything you did for me this weekend. I mean, Brock--” Bucky cuts himself off with a hitchy breath. The name, it would seem, pains him to say. “I just mean, you’ve been real cool. Thanks for that.”

Kissing the top of Bucky’s head, Steve runs a hand up and down his arm. Pulls him in a little closer. He knows this past day was a distraction for Bucky’s pain, but perhaps Bucky can use it as a bridge to get to where he needs to be. Some place where Brock is no longer lingering in the shadows. Not there to weigh Bucky down. Bucky’s not there yet, but… maybe someday he’ll meet someone there. Someone who will love him and treat him the way he deserves. Someone who will make him happy and laugh and blush and smile that sweet smile. Even if that someone isn’t Steve. 

“You’re welcome, baby.”

“Well, um…” Bucky moves away and stretches. “So, I gotta go.”

Steve glances at the clock. It’s a few minutes past eight and Bucky’s already progressing back to a place where he’s no longer Steve’s. 

“Oh.” Steve can’t help the dejected sound of his voice. “Okay. I’ll, uh, you want something to change into? This way you don’t have to go home in your dress clothes?”

Bucky twists his lips.

“I wonder if Brock’ll send my stuff back to my place,” he mutters absently. Then looks at Steve to explain. “I had a bag of stuff there. Some extra clothes since I was spendin’ the weekend and all.” He shrugs. “Nothin’ important. Anyway,” Bucky chuckles. Likely trying to once again to make light of something he doesn’t want to bother him. “Yeah, if you don’t mind.”

Blinking a few times, Steve almost moves in to kiss him before standing. He manages to keep from doing so and grabs Bucky a fresh pair of boxers, sweats, and a baggy, long-sleeved shirt from his room. Also remembers to bring Bucky’s clothes from last night back to him. 

“Wait,” Steve says. Pulling his arms back so that Bucky can’t take the clothes. “Am I going to get these back? Or will this be another hat incident?”

Face lighting up with the laugh that bubbles through him, Bucky makes a show of shrugging. Throwing his palms up. 

“You’ll get them back with your hat!” He promises. 

“Ugh,” Steve grunts and hands them over. “Goodbye clothes. You served me well.”

Bucky’s pulling the boxers on when he says, “Well, they’re just going to someone _else_ who serves you well. Right, sir?”

Steve scoffs, but Bucky’s statement has no lie in it. 

“Such a good boy you are for me,” Steve murmurs. Picks the shirt back up before Bucky can get to it and rolls the end of it up so that he can put it on Bucky himself. “Here you go, sweet boy.”

Bucky looks at him with stars in his eyes. As though Steve doing that on his own makes the whole day. The cherry on top. The icing on the cake. And all other clever cliches. 

He ducks his head forward and lets Steve put the shirt on for him. Even lets Steve hold the sleeves out so he can guide his arms through. Once again, Bucky looks completely adorable in Steve’s clothes. Shirt so big Bucky’s already pushing the sleeves up as far as they can go so they don’t hang over his hands -- he gives up after three tries and just lets the shirt do what it wants to. Steve still just wants to gobble him up and cuddle with him for hours. Unfortunately, Steve doesn’t have any shoes to offer.

“No big,” Bucky says. “Mine’ll do just fine.”

Already slipping into his shoes, Bucky grabs his phone and wallet from the coffee table where Steve put them earlier. Steve gets Bucky’s jacket from the hook on the wall and when he turns back around, he catches Bucky pulling at the collar of the shirt. Bringing it up to his nose and sniffing. As though trying to take in Steve’s scent from off the fabric. 

Steve tries not to smile too hard. Doesn’t want to get ahead of himself. Bucky just might like the way his detergent smells. 

“So, you gonna crash now?” Bucky asks when he notices Steve watching him. He’s dropped his hold on the shirt. Acts like he hadn’t done it at all. “Y’know, did I wear that old man body out?”

“Hm, you’re pushing your luck, kid,” Steve mumbles. Steps closer to Bucky and takes hold of the end of the sleeves that have fallen over his hands. 

He slowly reels Bucky in and already Bucky’s giggling. When he’s right up in front of him, Steve takes hold of both sleeves in one hand and uses his other to dig fingers into Bucky’s side.

“Oh no!” Bucky squeals. Barking out a high-pitched laugh and squirming from side to side. “Oh, Stevie, no!” His cheeks are already red from laughing. “Please!”

“See, ya little smartass,” Steve teases. Lightens up but doesn’t quite stop tickling. “This _old_ man still has some stamina left in ‘im.”

“Okay, okay!” Bucky gives in though more and more giggles and, like Steve’s gotten used to, gets up so close to Steve their bodies brush up together. “I’m sorry! I’m _so-or-ry_!” 

Chuckling, Steve stops. He crawls his fingers up and down Bucky’s ribs for a second before swathing him in his arms. The second he’s there, Bucky hugs him around the waist. Squeezes tight and hums.

“You oughta find someone real good, Stevie,” he sighs. “Stop hangin’ out with such riff raff.” Bucky nestles his cheek against Steve’s chest. “I’ll be sad to see my favorite customer go. But you deserve someone good.”

Steve’s heart pounds. Maybe this is his chance. Quite possibly the only one he’ll get. It’s too soon. He knows that. But he still can’t help it. 

“What if…” Steve rubs the back of Bucky’s neck. Taking a chance and letting hope lead the way. “What if I _already_ found someone good, Buck?”

In his arms, Steve can feel Bucky stiffen. Hears a quick intake of breath. Bucky steps away. Stares at Steve with shining eyes and the start of a smile on his lips. But he flicks his eyes away and Bucky’s entire expression changes. A dark cloud passing over whatever sunny thoughts crossed through his mind. 

Still gazing down at his feet, Bucky shakes his head. Whispers, “You should find someone real good, Steve.”

The rejection feels like a swift kick to Steve’s gut. Knocks the breath right out of him. It’s not Bucky’s fault. After all, Bucky’s made it quite clear that he’s not willing to risk his heart again. Steve knew it was a long shot already. _Never again_ , Bucky had said. _I promised myself I wouldn’t_. 

“Steve? S-sir?” Bucky’s soft albeit shaky voice pulls Steve out of the heartache that has his eyes filling with tears. “Am I… I’m still… I mean…”

“Yes, Bucky,” Steve interrupts. Saves Bucky from his stammering and having to come out and ask it. Steve cradles Bucky’s cheek. Hand forming to the spot Bucky loves most. “You’re still my good boy.”

A smile ghosts across Bucky’s lips as he leans into the touch. When he opens his eyes Steve can see a joke forming along the edges of them. Masking emotion with humor. Bucky’s a pro at it. 

“Yeah I know you can’t resist me.” Bucky raises his hand to his mouth and pretends to bite into something he’s holding. “Forbidden fruit, right?” 

Steve snorts and rustles up Bucky’s hair. 

“You’re such a goofball.” It then dawns upon Steve that this day, saying goodbye doesn’t include three full days of not seeing Bucky. “So, uh, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, huh? Last week and all.”

The thought actually settles in the second Bucky’s face falls. He didn’t really think about that either it would seem. They’re coming up on the last week of classes. Their time together is going to be cut down to four hours between the end of the week and the start of next semester. A month away.

“Oh. Oh yeah.” Bucky bites down on his lip and breathes out an awkward chuckle. “Time flies, right?”

“Are you saying you had fun?”

Bucky just rolls his eyes and moves closer to the door. Putting a hand at the back of Bucky’s neck, Steve reaches over him to open it for him. 

“Should I… text you?” Bucky asks. “When I get home?”

“If you wanna be a good boy, yeah.”

It’s hard to miss the smirk that twitches on Bucky’s face. He tries to rein it in, but it’s still there.

“Yes, sir. Well, uh…” Bucky leans back a little. Resting up against Steve and turns his head back so that he can plants a chaste kiss at the corner of his mouth. “I guess then I’ll see you tomorrow. Night, Stevie.”

“Goodnight, Bucky. Get home safe.”

He waves over his shoulder as he steps out into the hall. Out of habit, Steve sticks his head out and watches until Bucky disappears around the corner before closing the door. 

The door latching tells something to Steve that he doesn’t want to hear. That he can’t bare to admit, but really has no choice.

This thing with he and Bucky… it has an expiration date. It’s not going to last. And Steve’s elephant has been traded in for a timer. Counting down. 

Tick… tick… tick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Welcome to August! Well, I hope the wait was worth it! Again, I'm sorry it's been taking a while, but I do work to get them done asap. I hope everyone is enjoying their summers. For everyone going back to school soon, or starting for the first time, good luck! 
> 
> So there have been some development in how this story is going to go. This story will have a conclusion, however, there is also going to be a sequel which will be told from Bucky's pov. Just in case some people are interested in knowing, I thought it'd be a nice head's up.
> 
> Some visual inspiration for this chapter:
> 
> Minus the blonde hair, this is Bucky going to see _Phantom_
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> And Steve 
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> As always thank you for reading! Hope you'll be back next time! Come find me on tumblr at [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/)! A place for marvel and stucky and lots of fun stuff in general!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter Steve and Bucky experiment with a bit of pet play and find themselves having to re-examine their relationship
> 
> As always major thanks to [touchyourblood](http://archiveofourown.org/users/touchyourblood/pseuds/touchyourblood) and [stephrc79](http://archiveofourown.org/users/stephrc79/pseuds/stephrc79) for all your help!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> minor trigger warnings for underage drinking and drunkenness

The rumors about Dr. Grey’s final weren’t wrong. Having a study group was a really good idea. Going to both of them would have been better. This test is brutal. Almost every question has two possible answers. One better than the other. Sometimes it’s obvious. Sometimes it’s nearly impossible. 

Every now and then, Steve takes a glimpse around the room. Sees Teddy chewing on the end of his pencil like he means to devour it. Billy keeps tapping the tip of his pencil on the corner of his desk. Kate and Kamala seem to be running over and over different questions while Jim just keeps passing his hands over his face. 

The only one who's had no difficulties, which comes at no surprise, is Bucky. He finished in about thirty minutes. Handed his test in and was excused. The class officially done for him. 

Now there’s only ten more minutes and all Steve can do is run over and over the test. Reviewing the questions that have him stumped, worrying over the ones he’s not sure of, trying to stick to his instincts on those he is. He sighs as one by one his classmates hand their papers in and leave the room. There’s a handful of people left and Steve can’t subject himself to this torment anymore. If he keeps going over the test, he’s going to convince himself that every answer is wrong and end up changing the whole thing. 

Rather than letting that tiny, but loud voice of anxiety decide for him, Steve drops his pencil and shoots out of his seat. The quickness in which he moves draws a bit of attention from those still left in the room, but Steve just ignores them. Goes up to the desk where Dr. Grey is sitting. She thanks him, wishes him happy holidays, and Steve is officially free of Bio 101. For some reason, the excitement just doesn’t show up. 

As Steve gathers his things, he wonders if Bucky’s already gone home. He wasn’t sure what to expect when he saw Bucky today. Just last night, Bucky had rejected him. A subtle, gentle rejection, but a rejection nonetheless. It wasn’t as though Steve confessed his real feelings for the kid. He’d just… _hinted_. Threw the ball to Bucky only to have Bucky drop it. Or not catch it. Either way, it feels like there’s no ball left in the game anyway. 

But Bucky had come into class this afternoon with Steve’s hat on his head and a pleasant smile on his face. Plopped down next to Steve without even making his usual pit stops to their various classmates. 

“Hey, grandpa narc,” he had greeted. “Long time no see.”

Steve chuckled. Said, “Feels like only yesterday.”

“Yeah,” Bucky snickered. Then bit down on his lip and made Steve’s heart fall to his feet. “Um, about that.” Steve was sure Bucky was going to put a stop to everything right then and there. Too many lines crossed. “Uh, just…” He sighed and needed to start again. “Um, thank you again, Steve. I mean, no one’s ever… just… that was real cool of you. You didn’t need to do all that stuff. Cause, y’know, you paid and all and then you…”

Steve stopped him from having to stumble over anything else by placing his hand at the side of Bucky’s neck.

“I know I didn’t have to, Buck,” he said. “I _wanted_ to. And you’re welcome. I’m glad you had a good time.”

Dr. Grey had come in then and started giving out instructions on how the test would be administered. 

Test is over now. Class is over. Bucky’s gone, and Steve’s not even sure if he’ll see him this Thursday. Thursday’s Christmas Eve already. For all Steve knows, Bucky’s going to be spending the rest of the week with his family on Long Island. In any event, Steve doesn’t expect him to come all the way back to Brooklyn just for him the day before Christmas.

Steve figures he’ll just text him later to find out, when he sees Bucky surrounded by the whole study group right outside the doors. They’re all happily chatting away. Sounds like they’re talking about vacation plans and keeping in touch and the final they’ve just taken. Bucky’s smiling when he moves in to give Kamala a big hug. Even lifts her up a little bit. He looks so happy. Steve doesn’t want to disturb him. 

Bucky’s with his friends. With people who haven’t found themselves in this strange place between friend and client. Steve’ll just talk to him another time.

“Steve!”

The sound of his name surprises him. The person calling him makes him smile. He turns to see Sharon jogging up to him. All bundled up in a white peacoat. Hat and scarf and gloves. She looks really pretty. 

“Hey, Sharon!” he greets as she gets closer. “Didn’t think I’d see you today!”

An unexpected surge of excitement pumps through Steve’s body. The way he should have felt leaving Bio. At least he gets to feel it _once_ today. They didn’t catch each other this morning. Their professor only required everyone to stop in to hand in their final papers. Steve’s was on _The Time Machine_ , which happens to be one of Sharon’s favorite books. 

“I didn’t think so either,” she says. “I got stuck at the financial aid office, otherwise I’d be long gone. How’d your paper come out?”

“Okay, I think.” Steve chuckles. “I hope so anyway. How about you? Were you able to get past you love for Holden and focus on your paper?”

Sharon scoffs a laugh. Poor Sharon was stuck with one of the books she hated while Steve was lucky enough to get her favorite.

“I _think_ I was able to hold my bias in enough to deliver an adequate paper.” She flashes a grin. “But it’s done now. Time to move forward to a riveting semester of English 102!”

A class they’ve scheduled together. Steve is looking forward to working with her again next semester. He likes Sharon. A lot. She’s sweet and fun and funny. Makes Steve laugh and has way about her that’s full of confidence, but never arrogant. She’s… someone real good. 

“I’m so glad I caught you,” Sharon says. “I wanted to wish you happy holidays and all that jazz!”

“Oh thanks! I…” Steve looks at her smiling face. At the pretty twinkle in her eyes. “Um… what’re your plans? Are you going away again?”

Like she did for Thanksgiving when she went upstate to visit relatives. 

“Yep. I’m leaving later tonight. Christmas on the farm. Can I get any more Jane Austen?”

Steve rocks his head back with a laugh. Still laughing, he happens to notice his group of Bio buddies is still mingling by the entrance. So is Bucky. Only Bucky, unlike the others, isn’t engaged in any sort of conversation. Instead, he’s staring at Steve. An unreadable expression on his face. Until he realizes that he’s been caught staring. Then he just tosses a smirk and lets himself get sucked back into whatever the rest are talking about. 

“What about you, Steve?” Sharon asks. “What are your plans? Visiting family?”

His chest gets tight at that question. Such a simple, very normal question. Last time Sharon asked something similar, Steve lied. That doesn’t… it doesn’t feel right this time.

“Actually, I, uh…” The air feels too warm. Even though there’re a few patches of ice on the ground. “I don’t really have any family left. Any relatives still alive are in Ireland and I don’t really know them. My, uh, my mama died when I was still in high school.”

There’s no need to bother talking about the father he didn’t really know. Steve doesn’t remember anything about him that he didn’t learn from Sarah. 

Steve doesn’t realize he’s looking at his feet until Sharon puts a hand on his bicep.

“Oh, Steve, I…” She cuts herself off and starts a different sentiment. “That, hell, that just really sucks. I mean that just _really_ sucks.”

He glances back up at her. No one’s ever really said that to him. Not when first finding out. It’s usually a chorus of apologies and sympathies fumbling out of awkwardness and discomfort. Ending with Steve trying to say it’s okay. Sharon’s different. There’s no pity in her eyes. Or that horrified expression people usually get when he tells them. Sharon just looks at him like she’s angry for him. Like she’s mad that he’s ever had to experience such a loss.

“Thank you, Sharon.” Steve gives her a smile. And it’s not forced either. Even talking about this. 

“For what?” She shakes her head. “You shouldn’t have to… I mean…” She grunts and Steve actually chuckles. “Look, I know we’re still just getting to know each other, but, Steve, if you have nowhere to go and don’t want to be alone, I can cancel with my family. We can order Chinese and watch bad movies or anything you want. My treat.”

For a moment, Steve can’t believe what Sharon’s just offered. She means it though. Steve can see that. She’d actually cancel Christmas with her family just to spend it with him. He’s so touched by it, that tears actually fill his eyes.

“I… Sharon, thank you. So much. That… that means so much to me.” Steve wipes at his eyes. Makes sure no tears actually fall. “But I actually do have someplace to go. I won’t be alone. But, uh, well, when do you get back in town? Cause maybe I could… take you out to dinner?”

Sharon smiles at him. Gives Steve a nod and that hand still wrapped around his arm squeezes a bit.

“I’d really like that. I get back the day after Christmas. So maybe… Sunday? If you’re not busy?”

“Sunday sounds great!” Steve exclaims. A little more enthusiastically than he meant. His face warms. “Um… there’s this little Italian place that I know not far from here. Unless that’s… is that too cliche? Um…”

“Italian is fine, Steve,” she chuckles. “Where is this place?”

“Oh.” Steve realizes that he’s getting really nervous again. Awkward and bumbling. “It’s on Foster Ave. Mama Luccia’s?”

“I know that place! I’ve been meaning to try it.” 

Steve feels himself lighting up. 

“I can… pick you up? If you want?”

“Aw, Steve, you’re too sweet. It’s okay though. No need for you to go out of the way when I can just meet you.”

A part of him is disappointed. Call him old fashioned, but Steve would _like_ to pick her up. Bring her flowers and open the door for her and all that stuff that Sharon probably doesn’t care about. 

“Well, if you change your mind, it’s fine. I wouldn’t mind picking you up. But, uh, how’s eight? Is that good?”

“Perfect,” she agrees. “Then it’s a date.”

That word makes his heart flutter. A date. Steve is going to be taking Sharon Carter out on a date. 

“Okay then.” Steve holds in a laugh. Happy and excited. “I hope you have a Merry Christmas and I’ll see you… on Sunday?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Sharon gives him a quick peck on the cheek. “Have a Merry Christmas, Steve.”

Not sure what to do next, Steve just stands there. Shifts his weight from foot to foot until Sharon laughs and officially says goodbye before heading off the way she came. 

Alone again, Steve takes a peek back over at the kids from Bio. Some of them have already left. Bucky and Jim are nowhere to be seen and Billy and Teddy are saying their farewells. Teddy, catching a glimpse of Steve standing there, throws his hand up in the air to wave.

“Bye, Steve!” he shouts. One hand cupped around his mouth like a microphone even though they’re only about twenty yards apart. “See you next year!”

His yell grabs everyone’s attention and those that are left turn to face Steve with big smiles and happy waves. Steve laughs and waves back. Wishes them happy holidays and then heads on his way. 

Keys in his hand, Steve watches his feet as he walks. He has a date. An actual date. It’s been a long time since he’s gone on a date. Well, one that didn’t involve paying for the company. One where he wasn’t already head over heels in love with the person in question. Who didn’t feel the same towards him.

He’s excited. And yet, there’s a nagging touch of pain in his chest. Steve’s not _dating_ Sharon. It’s just a date. But that doesn’t help when thinking about Bucky. About that expiration date that’s slowly creeping in. Is this how the end starts? With a date?

Steve doesn’t know. He just doesn’t know. Eventually, something has to give. He can’t go on like this. Pining after someone who doesn’t share the same feelings. Maybe it’s better that this week is Christmas and puts a dent in their weekly plans. This might be the chance for some space between him and Bucky. Make the lines clearer again. Lines which Steve shouldn’t have ever allowed to blur. 

When he glances up as he nears his car, Steve is shocked to see someone sitting on the hood of it. He stops dead in his tracks just as Bucky looks up from his phone. Smiles and flicks his eyebrows up.

“Were you tryin’a sneak off without saying bye?” Bucky snickers. “What’s up with that, grandpa?”

“What?” Steve rattles his head and steps closer. “Of course not.” 

Smirking, Bucky slides off the car and hops once, landing in a very sloppy fighting stance with his fists raised.

“Damn straight!” he exclaims. “Otherwise I’d have to kick your ass.”

Oh this just isn’t fair. Being near this kid shouldn’t cause so many emotions in Steve. Between feeling giddy as a school boy, to missing Bucky even when he’s standing right in front of him. Steve holds back a smile. He takes in the way Bucky’s standing and, calling on the kickboxing he still remembers clear as day, he sweeps in to pull Bucky into a headlock. Bucky squeaks and bursts out laughing as Steve steers him down.

“Steve!”

“Look at mister tough guy now, huh?” Steve teases. “Still think you’re gonna kick my ass?”

First answer to that is a squeal of laughter as Bucky struggles in a failed attempt to free himself.

“Okay, okay!” Bucky laughs. “You win! I give up!”

Chuckling, Steve releases his hold and Bucky straightens back up -- cheeks all red and out of breath as the air escapes from his lungs in quick bursts of frost. 

“Still think you’re gonna kick my ass?” Steve repeats.

A little scowl pulls up on Bucky’s mouth. He huffs and starts rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Maybe in court,” he mumbles. “Little lawsuit for the damage to my neck.”

“Oh, is that so?” Steve snickers. “Did I hurt your little neck?” That scowl turns into a pout and Bucky nods. Steve chuckles. “My poor sweet boy.” He holds a hand out. “Come here. Let me fix it.”

Bucky lets his hand slip away so that Steve can press his fingers into the back of his neck. His skin is so soft and Bucky closes his eyes as he starts leaning into the touch. Head moving this way and that like he wants Steve to get every inch that his hand can touch. 

“Look at you,” Steve laughs. “You’re like my own little kitten.”

Eyes still closed, Bucky blushes, but doesn’t stop moving into Steve’s hand. In fact, he does it even more. 

When Bucky opens his eyes, he bites back a smile and says, “Meow.”

The laugh hits Steve so hard and unexpectedly, that he pulls Bucky into his arms and keeps petting him that way. Up against him, he can feel Bucky chuckling as well. 

“I can be your kitten,” Bucky murmurs. “But uh… Steve…”

The second Steve feels Bucky trying to move away, he lets him. Bucky takes just enough of a step back so that he can look at Steve clearly. He doesn’t appear troubled or put off, but, as usual, every horrible scenario runs through Steve’s mind. 

“What is it, Bucky?”

“Uh, it’s just… well, Thursday…”

Steve holds a hand up. Stops Bucky from going any further since they went through something similar the week of Thanksgiving. 

“Hey, no. I told you last time,” Steve says. “You go be with your family. You don’t have to worry about not coming on Thursday.”

Bucky’s mouth opens with a tiny twitch in the corners before snapping it closed again as if changing his mind about what he wanted to say. 

“Yeah, but… it’s not just that,” he admits. Shuffles his feet and, again, Steve can feel his glands swelling. Is this it already? The end? Was his confession, as subtle as it was, too much? “Um, you’re not gonna…”

His words trail off and Bucky’s whole face turns red. Though he doesn’t seem flushed with embarrassment or anything of the sort. More like frustration. As if he just can’t figure out how to say whatever it is he wants to say.

“Hey, Buck, whatever it is, it’s okay. You can tell me.”

Bucky glances back up at him. He looks a little surprised. Anxious as well. Nerves dance along the corners of his eyes. 

“Steve, I… I was just wondering if…” He sighs and looks at his feet again. Shrugs and then says, “You’re not gonna be alone for Christmas, are ya? Cause, I mean, y’know…”

“No, Bucky,” Steve answers. Cuts Bucky off before he can say anything else. “I’m not gonna be alone.”

When Bucky peers back up again, he eyes Steve skeptically. Lips twisted and toes tapping, he sweeps his gaze over Steve and crosses his arms. 

“You ain’t lying, grandpa, right?”

Steve chuckles. He loves it when Bucky makes that face. His own feisty, little kitten. 

Everything inside of Steve feels warm and toasty. Bucky giving him that look. Like maybe he’ll have a few choice words for Steve if he’s lying. In just fifteen minutes alone, two of his favorite people have checked in with him about the same thing. 

“I’m not lying, baby.” 

Steve reaches out pets a hand over Bucky’s head again. Bucky seems to try to fight it, but his eyes flutter closed again. Fingers scratch just by the hair behind Bucky’s ear and Bucky sighs contently. His arms drop and he steps close to Steve again. 

“You promise?” he whispers. Nose nuzzling into Steve’s chest.

“I promise, Buck. You don’t need to worry about me. Just enjoy the time with your family.”

It sounds as though Bucky might try to say something to that only to have a soft hum come out instead.

“You think… um… you think it’d be okay if I text you or something? Y’know just to, like, wish you a Merry Christmas or whatever?” Bucky clears his throat. “I get it if you don’t want me to after, I mean, y’know…” He glances up. Steve can see worry in his eyes. “I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable or nothing. Um…”

He trails off there. Takes a step back and stares down at his toes. It doesn’t take a genius to see what’s going on here. The awkwardness Steve thought was avoided is here now. How could it not be? 

“Hey, are you okay?” Steve asks. He can do this. Steve can fall back and be the person Bucky needs him to be. A customer with just a pinch of friendship. “Cause I’m okay. And yes, Buck. You can text me on Christmas.”

Bucky peers up at him. The hint of a smile on his face. He rubs his forehead right under the brim of Steve’s hat. 

“So then… we’re… we’re good, right?” Bucky crinkles his nose. “I didn’t fuck shit up with us, did I?”

“Oh, no. No of course not, sweetheart. Come here.” Steve holds his arms open and Bucky moves in for the hug. Last thing he needs is Bucky blaming himself for this. “We’re fine. I promise.”

The arms around his waist squeeze tighter. Steve can feel Bucky smile against him.

“Okay. Okay so that’s… okay.” Bucky rattles his head and steps away rather abruptly. He takes in a deep breath and seems to be avoiding looking up at Steve. “Okay, then.” His eyes fall closed and, finally, the smile that Steve’s come to adore grows along his lips. “Sorry. I dunno what’s, uh, what’s wrong with me. But I’m gonna go. _I_ gotta pack for rest of the week.”

“Big trip back to Long Island, huh?”

“Yeah!” he squeaks. Suddenly excited and a lot more himself. “Actually, I can’t wait. I got Becky this really awesome Beauty and the Beast snowglobe. She loves Disney, but she _pretends_ she doesn’t ‘cause she’s too cool for it.”

“Like you and musicals?”

Bucky’s mouth falls open.

“Hey, I’m totally awesome.”

_That you are, sweetheart._

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve shakes his head. “You want a ride, Buck?”

“Nah, I’m good. But I’ll talk to you on Friday. Gotta make sure my favorite customer is having a good Christmas.”

“You’re too kind.”

“I know, right?” Bucky teases. “I’m the greatest!” He chuckles to himself and spins around. Flicks a wave over his shoulder and gets a cigarette out as he heads towards the bus stop. 

Steve could kick himself for letting this happen. For falling so hard so fast and so completely. He pulled Bucky in when Bucky tried to keep his distance. He pried Bucky open when Bucky tried to stay closed. 

Steve’s the one who tried to change them. He’s promised Bucky that they’re okay. And it’s up to him to keep it that way. 

***

The car feels too cramped. Which is unusual since it’s only Steve and a wreath. Just a plain wreath made of pine and a red bow that sits on the passenger seat. Steve’s been parked for almost twenty minutes already and hasn’t gotten the courage to get out yet. 

It’s not snowing outside. Movies often lie about that. Christmastime in New York may have a light sprinkle of a white Christmas, but it’s rarely the pretty, glistening snowfall that one sees on the big screen. In fact, right now it’s raining. A light drizzle, but it’s still too warm for snow. Even on Christmas morning. 

This is ridiculous and Steve knows it. Nothing here can hurt him and yet he just can’t bring himself to get out to visit his mama’s grave. Twice a year is all he can manage. Christmas and her birthday. The two times a year he guaranteed a trip back when living out in California. Steve’s never been alone on Christmas. It’d been tradition to spend the day with the Wilsons when Sarah was alive and Steve hasn’t broken that.

He can still hear Darlene and Mama in the kitchen laughing as they chased Steve and Sam out for trying to swipe cookies. Steve can remember ripping through wrapping paper as they all exchanged gifts. He thought the magic would never end. 

Steve’s phone has gone off a few times, but he hasn’t checked it. Any distraction might be tempting enough to talk him out of this and Steve’s promised himself he’ll go. 

After a few more minutes of self encouragement, Steve finally brings himself to push the door open. The rain has stopped anyway. Might as well do this and stay dry. Grabbing the wreath, Steve slides out of the car and makes his way to Sarah’s plot. 

Other people are in the cemetery, too. Some leaving, some just arriving. Many of the sites have fresh flowers or even holiday decorations around them. A hot blade pushes against Steve’s throat as his mama’s stone comes into view. He almost stops, but manages to keep his legs moving. 

Everything about it is beautiful. The grass trimmed neatly. Flowers in the holder. All things he pays for since Steve is too much of a chicken to come here and do it himself. He stands there for a moment. Eyes trailing over the golden writing in the stone. 

_Music, when soft voices die, vibrates in the memory._

Sarah had picked the epitaph herself. It fits. She was always singing. Steve can still remember the sound of her voice as it echoed through their little apartment. Carrying soft melodies that weren’t always in tune, but did always come from someplace warm and happy. He can hear her singing _Beautiful Boy_ to him when he was sick or scared or just because. 

The ground is wet and squishy beneath Steve’s feet. He can hear the water squeezing out of the earth as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. Just standing there. Staring out at his mother’s burial plot. 

Taking in a deep breath, Steve steps forward and places the wreath gently in front of the stone. He crouches down and swipes away a few fallen leaves from the older flowers that haven’t been taken care of yet. Steve avoids looking down. As though worried something might pop out of the wet ground. A horrible, Stephen King worthy scare that will be the end of him. When nothing of the sort happens, Steve stands back up.

Steve’s seen other people visiting their loved ones, having heartfelt conversations but he can’t even get himself to say a single word. His mouth opens several times, but nothing, not one syllable comes out. This is supposed to be a place of solace. Somewhere he should be able to come and feel some sort of comfort. Steve feels nothing. No flicker of hope or happy memories. Just the feel of the cold ground beneath him. The emptiness that’s filled his heart ever since leaving his mama here.

He can’t talk to her. Not the way others like to do. Not when he can’t get an answer. Steve wants to know if she’s proud of him. If he’s become even half the person she’d hoped for. He wants to tell her all about his life out in California. He wants to ask her if she thinks he’s making mistakes. With school, with the MoMA exhibit, with his friends, with Sharon, with… Bucky. 

There won’t be any answer though. Just the quiet response of a lazy Christmas wind. 

With his hand on the cold stone, Steve fights off painfully heavy tears and tries to swallow the blade in his throat. It’s not all that successful. It’s still there. Poking and stabbing at him.

“Merry Christmas, Mama,” he whispers. Turns on his heels and hurries back to his car. 

Inside the car, he realizes he’s crying. Hard enough that it hurts his chest. Steve’s not even sure why he’s crying like this. It hasn’t been this bad since that first Christmas trip here. The whole thing was still so surreal and when he stepped up to the site, he was hit with her death all over again. 

It’s gotten a little better each year since then. Until right now. When all Steve can think about is the hole he feels. The hole that just feels a little bit deeper today. 

He’s sucking in a rough breath when his phone chimes again. It’s probably been doing that the whole time. He had left the thing in the car since he didn’t want to look at it yet. 

Steve grabs it from the glove compartment. Sees he has three texts. All from… from Bucky. His heart twists. Bucky had asked if he could text. Steve said yes. Maybe that was a mistake. That’s not exactly what Steve would consider putting space between them. But the thought of saying no to Bucky about something as simple as a text is horrible. Poor Bucky is already convinced that no one would want anything to do with him. To make matters worse, Steve misses him already. He hasn’t even said goodbye yet and there’s a part of Bucky that’s been taken away. Knowing this is going end and not knowing how to do it. 

Before checking the messages, Steve thinks about home and what’s waiting for him. There’s a tree in his apartment. Courtesy of Tony and Pepper since Tony couldn’t stand the sight of Steve’s “Charlie Brown tree” that was on the coffee table. It’s covered in twinkling lights and sparkling glass ornaments. One that even has the year on it. Another that says ‘welcome home’. Steve had been perfectly content in the little planted shrub he’d picked up at the grocery store last week, but Tony insisted. And when Tony insists, it’s a little hard to ignore.

Presents are nestled under it. Just a few for the friends that have made Steve feel like he’s home again. They’re all wrapped up in glittering paper. Bows for just that little extra touch. And one… well… Steve’s not sure _what_ he was thinking when he ordered it, but Bucky’s name glares at him from his phone. Accusing him already. Bucky’s made their relationship perfectly clear. The line drawn. 

As though worried Bucky might actually _see_ Steve in the state he’s in, Steve hastily wipes his eyes first. Then clicks to read the message. And bursts out laughing when he sees the picture Bucky’s sent him. 

There’s Bucky looking back at him. He’s stretched out on a bed, bigger than the one that he was on when Steve cammed with him. There’s goofy grin on his face. A red bow around his dick. And a pair of cat ears on his head. 

The caption with it reads: **playing with my new selfie stick!**

Steve is still trying to contain his laughter when he checks the other two messages Bucky’s sent.

**Bucky: Meow-y Christmas, Stevie!**

The last one, which Steve received only a minute or so before getting back into the car, was sent twenty minutes after the first two.

**Bucky: Sorry if I’m bothering you. Just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas. Hope you have a good one.**

Heart heavy in his chest, Steve’s no longer regretting the decision to keep in contact today. So maybe Bucky doesn’t feel the same sort of love that Steve has for him. That doesn’t mean he feels _nothing_. Whatever it is, it’s enough that he wants to contact him on Christmas morning. Make sure that he’s not spending the day alone. And is worried about bothering him. All Steve wants is for Bucky to find the happiness he deserves. He’ll do anything to be a part of that. Even if it means staying in the background. 

First things first though, he needs to remedy this little misunderstanding Bucky has.

**Steve: Merry Christmas! Isn’t it a little early for you to be up, kitten? and you’re /never/ bothering me, Buck.**

Steve doesn’t leave the parking lot right away. He waits a few minutes, knowing that if his phone goes off when he’s driving, he’s going to just pull over to check it anyway. It pays off. Bucky replies in less than five minutes.

**Bucky: Santa got your kitten up early. :P toooo early :/ I’m so sleepy. think I need a nap**

Smiling at the phone, Steve can’t help picture Bucky all curled up in bed with those ears still on his head. Blankets wrapped around him, pillows all fluffy underneath him. The image is too adorable.

**Steve: Then take a nap. Kittens need their rest. Text me later if you want.**

**Bucky: meow!**

**Bucky: but aren’t u busy later? you got stuff to do rite?**

The questions make Steve smile. Bucky cares whether or not he’ll be alone tonight. 

**Steve: yeah I’ll be with friends. but I can take a few minutes for you**

**Bucky: ur awesome mrry Christmas sir xoxo meow!**

**Steve: Merry Christmas, kitten**

The drive back home is a lot less painful than the drive there. Like a weight has been lifted. Not only has Steve accomplished what he set out to do, he got to speak to Bucky for a few minutes. Bright and early. It’s a nice feeling. Thinking that maybe he’s a part of Bucky’s daily thoughts. 

Normally, Steve hurries back from the cemetery. Anxious to just get the day rolling and over with. 

Today, he finds himself smiling at all the people that are making their way to whatever holiday destination is meant for them. Whether family homes or friends’ homes or Church or a wherever. Kids outside playing with some of their new toys and some dressed up in their holiday best. When a man washes Steve’s window with a spray bottle of water and newspaper, Steve gives him all the cash he has on him. The man lights up with a smile and gives him a _God bless you, son_ before leaving. 

He takes some time to admire the decorations Brooklyn has to offer. Waves at the street Santas. Smiles at the people in the cars around him. 

By the time Steve gets back, it’s nearing eleven o’clock. He also has messages from Bruce and Betty, and Sharon. The first two are what he expected. Merry Christmas messages, with an added heart from Betty. The one from Sharon makes Steve grin. Ear to ear. Even blush a little.

**Sharon: Merry Christmas, Steve! I hope you have a good one. You’re on my mind today! Can’t wait for Sunday :)**

Steve scratches the back of his head. He has a date with Sharon Carter. And she can’t wait for it. This just makes Steve even more excited for it himself. It’ll be good for him. Maybe afterwards, he’ll have some clearer sense of direction. Figure out how to handle putting distance between him and Bucky while maintaining a friendship. 

After quickly replying to her, Steve heads inside. It’s raining again, but it’s gotten cold enough that it’s slushy. Coating the parking lot with a thick layer of wet goo that sloshes under Steve’s feet as he hurries into the building. He shakes off what’s accumulated in his hair, some of it sliding down his neck and making his skin quiver. 

He hustles up the stairs. The Wilson’s are expecting him around one o’clock and he still needs to shower and change. Maybe eat a little more than the half a bowl of Captain Crunch he had earlier. There are two chocolate pudding pies in the fridge that he needs to remember to grab. He made them last night. Even got the whipped cream to go with them. 

Steve would head straight into the shower only his phone goes off again. 

**Sharon: It’s snowing!**

Forgetting for a second that Sharon is upstate and not in Brooklyn with him, Steve glances out the window. For just a second, he felt the elation rush through him. Guess he’s not old enough to not appreciate the idea of a white Christmas. Mama would have loved it. Steve scrunches his nose at the ugly streaks of slush that trickle across his windows. 

**Steve: Aw man! It’s not here! Just slushy rain.**

He gets an image sent to him not even a full minute later. The picture’s of a big, front yard. Lots of space and a long driveway. Bare trees out in the distance. Sure enough, Steve can see the light sprinkle of snow that’s started topping the ground. 

**Sharon: Nice, right?**

**Steve: Really pretty. But if it gets bad enough, who shovels?**

**Sharon: lol it’s a family affair. bonding on the farm**

Steve finds himself chuckling and sitting down on the arm of the couch. 

**Steve: do you churn your own butter too? milk the cows by hand?**

**Sharon: Shucks, no cows! But there’s apples leftover from pickin’s in the fall! homemade apple pie!**

**Steve: I’m an apple cake man myself. how’s your morning? santa bring you some goodies?**

He gets another picture in answer to that. A huge tree -- decked out in ornaments and garland and lights -- with tons of opened presents scattered under it. There’s everything from homecare items to toys to boxes that probably contain clothes to electronics. 

**Steve: Wow! All that for you?**

Sharon: Of course not! Lots of people here. Toys are for the kids! Except for the chemistry set ;)

Laughing again, Steve slides around the arm of the couch to settle onto the cushions as he texts her back. It goes on like that. Back and forth and nice and easy. Steve just rests back and finds himself lost in the digital world with her. He laughs out loud and scoffs and makes the same reactions he would if she was sitting right on the couch with him. 

**Sharon: sorry Steve I have to run. Being summoned for lunch!**

Lunch? That’s impossible. Isn’t it a bit early for lunch? Steve glances at the time. It’s already a quarter past noon. Eyes going wide, Steve shoots a farewell and merry Christmas text to Sharon before racing to the bathroom to shower. 

He showers quickly, but he still needs to shave and try to do something with his unmanageable hair. There’s no way he’s going to make it to the Wilson’s by one o’clock. Steve grabs his phone, fully intending on calling Sam to let him know he’s running late when there’s a knock on the door. 

In only his bathrobe, Steve goes to see who’s at the door, expecting maybe a neighbor coming by to wish him a Merry Christmas. He opens it just a crack. Nope. Not a neighbor. Steve pulls the door open all the way.

“Merry Christmas!” Steve’s greeted in a chorus of happy voices.

Steve laughs. Still doesn’t know what’s going on, but seeing Sam, Maria, Rhodey, Tony, and Pepper out in hall makes the laugh happen anyway. Even all bundled up, Steve can tell that they’re dressed nice. All of them have packages in their arms. Boxes, tupperware, bags slung over wrists.

“What are you guys doing here?” Steve asks. 

“It’s Christmas!” Tony announces as though making some huge discovery. “Your first one back as a real New Yorker. Gotta christen your place!”

“But I…” Steve rattles his head and looks at Sam. “What about your house? Isn’t your mom expecting us?”

Sam shrugs and gives him a grin.

“She sent us here with two trays of lasagna!” He chuckles. Maria holds up the two trays. “Hell, she’d be here with us if she didn’t host every year.”

“Hey, and you know,” Rhodey says. “One of those trays is for me. She told me so.”

As Maria goes on to tease Rhodey about not sharing the lasagna at all, Pepper steps forward and kisses Steve’s cheek.

“We just figured this might be nice,” she says. “Spending your first Christmas officially home all together.”

Everybody must be dead set on making Steve all teary-eyed lately. First Sharon, then Bucky, now them. Home, Pepper’s called it. He’s home. And for the first time, Steve truly feels like it. 

 

The lasagna’s in the oven. After a close call of Sam forgetting to take the plastic wrap off before shoving it in there. Tony’s tried several times to cut into Steve’s chocolate pudding pies, as well as the cheesecake, cherry pie, and chocolate cake that’s been brought over. Pepper’s caught him every time. Tony’s no longer allowed in the kitchen unsupervised. 

There’s now an array of chips and nuts and cookies all spread out on Steve’s coffee table. Wine has been pouring pretty steadily. Christmas music plays out of Steve’s stereo. An endless supply of holly jolly, magical tunes. All the gifts that everyone brought with them have joined those already there. Except the one Steve quickly stashed in the drawer of his entertainment center. The less questions asked about the small box left unopened the better. 

Steve’s dressed now. White and blue checkered shirt with a blue sweater over it. Tie for the occasion. He’d gone to his room to change while his friends set everything up in the living room and kitchen. It’s been a barrel of laughs. Happy talks and off-key carolling. 

Now that Tony’s been prohibited from the kitchen, he’s moved onto other mischief. Which means he’s been buzzing over by the tree, trying to nonchalantly sneak peaks at the gifts.

“Tony, if you don’t get away from there, Pepper’s gonna smack you,” Rhodey warns.

“Actually, don’t stop,” Maria says. “I’d kinda love to see that happen.”

“Aw!” Tony bounces once. “But I wanna open _presents_!”

“Not yet!” Steve laughs. Remembering well how this used to be Sam and him. Waiting rather impatiently for the gift opening to begin. “Not until after dinner.”

Just like every year. Steve has yet to meet anyone who follows a similar tradition. From what he knows, everyone opens their gifts first thing in the morning. Not them. When he was little, his presents were always accompanied by a letter from Santa telling him he needed to wait until he was with the Wilsons. Sam got a similar letter saying he needed to wait for the Rogers’. Each of them were allowed to open only one gift in the morning. The rest waited until after dinner. A way to spread the rest of the day out. 

“This is ridiculous,” Tony grumbles. “Wait till after dinner. What kind of torture is this? How did you two even _survive_ as kids?”

Sam laughs as he comes back from the kitchen.

“We made it work,” he chuckles. “Course, this one over here” — jerks his chin at Steve — “ _always_ got us in trouble for trying to open some early.”

“ _What_?!” Steve shrieks as Tony teases him for being a hypocrite. “Not true! No way are you going to blame it all on me!”

“Oh come on!” Sam laughs. “Who’s the one who thought it’d be an _amazing_ idea to stick that small box into his _pants_?”

Steve twists his lips. Cheeks turning all red when everyone turns to look at him. No way is he going to admit where he got a papercut that day. 

“I… shut up!” He covers his face. “It was _your_ idea to try to slide them across the entire living room like no one would notice!”

“That was _your_ idea, Steve,” Sam says. He’s right, too, damn it. “ _I_ was the one who thought up sticking them in my Tonka truck.”

That’s one Steve can remember clear as day. Sam’s yellow, metal dump truck, personally helping them try to steal some presents away. They would have gotten away with it, too, if Sarah hadn’t come out of the bathroom just as they were crossing in front of it. Snatched them both by the ear and dragged them back into the living room. 

As though they’re both thinking the same thing, Steve and Sam each rub at their ear.

“We were so close,” Steve says. “We never made it that far again.”

“The story of Christmas woe by Sam Wilson and Steve Rogers,” Maria teases. Toasts a glass in their direction. “I have to say, it’s fun watching Stark try to hold back.”

“You’re killing me!” Tony whines. “Just one! _One_!”

“Tony’s not one for restraint,” Pepper remarks. “I’m surprised he’s made it this far.”

Rhodey pats Tony on the back and laughs when he says, “How much longer you think he’ll last?”

Steve and Sam share a glance. Really, this is their tradition. Maria’s now, too, ever since she and Sam moved in together. It’s up to them. Sam grins. No words needed.

“Okay, okay!” Steve exclaims. “We can all open _one_ before dinner.”

Tony’s already digging through the pile. 

It’s fun sharing Christmas this way. Steve really can’t think of anything better. Well, maybe if Bucky or Sharon was here. The thought makes Steve realize he’s left his phone in his bedroom. He’s been having such a good time, he didn’t even notice. 

While everyone else starts looking for which present they want to open first, Steve excuses himself to fetch his phone. There are messages waiting for him again. Four. One from Sharon. Three from Bucky. 

Sharon’s sent him a picture of the front yard again. This time with a whole lot more snow than last. The caption is a joke about having to shovel up their white Christmas. Steve chuckles and sends back a text that says it’s better than having to milk the cows. 

From Bucky, he’s got another picture as well. Two actually. In the first one he’s still got those cat ears on. Still on the bed, but this time there’s a big blanket pulled around him. Looks like he’s just woken up. This one says that his nap was just what he needed to get back into the Christmas mood. The second picture is one of his dick. That one reads, **see what I mean? ;)** Steve can’t help laughing. 

The last text warms Steve right to his heart. Maybe it’s because it’s Christmas or something, but he just can’t seem to take the sentiment today without shedding a tear.

**Bucky: hope this finds you in good company, grandpa narc! Merry Christmas!**

Steve knows he should get back to his friends. But he can’t help taking a moment to text him back.

**Steve: You know, naughty boys don’t get nice things for Christmas. /good/ boys get them. ;)**

Steve hits send and then quickly types up another.

**Steve: I am in good company. Lots of love over here! Hope you’re having a good day, Buck!**

He gets that one sent just in time. Both Tony and Sam are shouting his name from the living room. Steve tucks the phone in his pocket and hurries back.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says when he gets back and is met with Tony’s disgruntled look. “I’m back. What’d I miss?”

“A very interesting turn of events,” Maria comments. 

“Is that so?” 

“Yup,” Rhodey concurs. “Tony’s sucked your ally onto _his_ side.”

Sam, seated next to Maria on the couch, is now trying to hide behind her. Even more so when Steve throws his attention to him. 

“Oh, is that so?” Steve asks. “Has Tony Stark wiggled his way through that iron will, Samuel Thomas Wilson?”

“No! I mean…” Sam peaks out around Maria’s shoulder. “It’s what we’ve been dreaming of for years! And we can finally do it!”

At twenty-eight years old. Steve can’t help laughing. This _is_ something they’ve been trying to sneak since they were kids. There’s only one problem.

Steve whispers, “But… what if your mom finds out?”

While the rest of them break out laughing, Sam stretches his lips. Looks like he on the same page as Steve.

“How’s she gonna find out?”

“Mom-dar?”

“Oh my god,” Maria laughs. “You two are such children. What do you think is gonna happen?”

Both Steve and Sam shake their heads. Sharing a knowing and horrified look. 

Steve says, “ _Marlene_ can find out.”

“And you’ve never seen my Mom angry.” Sam shudders like she’s there right now. Eyes narrowed and lips pursed. “But… Steve? What’d you think?”

“Say yes, Steve!” Tony shouts. “Say yes, say yes, say _yes_!”

“Alright, alright!” Steve gives in. “Let’s do it! Let’s live on the wild side!”

“Wild indeed,” Rhodey laughs. “Look at you two. We’re gonna have to hold you back!”

“Tony!” Pepper scolds as he rummages through all the packages like a giddy child. “Control yourself!”

Tony whines again but this time plops to the floor and waits as everyone starts sorting through all the gifts. Tossing a box to the recipient and then beginning to shred through paper. 

There’re a lot of goofy presents. Shot glasses with the seven deadly sins on them for Tony. A book with funny wrong tests answers for Steve. A frog prince paper weight for Pepper -- _It’ll remind you of Tony!_ Maria said. A mug in the shape of a prescription bottle for Rhodey. 

Among the silly gifts are thoughtful and heartfelt ones as well. Steve not only receives a complete 150 set of remarkable colored pencils, but a few professionally edited pictures of himself and all his friends over the years. 

“Tony thought your place could use a little sprucing up,” Sam comments when Steve opens one of the three of them from high school. “Add a personal touch.”

Steve takes a look around the place. Seeing how bare the walls are reminds him of what Bucky asked him last weekend. Why aren’t there any pictures of Mama up? Now that Steve gets a good look, he knows his place has been missing something. This is home. And it’s time to state it as such.

“Thank you, guys,” he says. “Really. These are all wonderful.”

Tony, sitting among crumpled up balls of wrapping paper and half open boxes, pulls out the last gift under the tree.

“One more,” he announces. “Looks like it’s to Sam from Steve!”

He’s about to pass the package along. A gift bag with lots of tissue paper sloppily tossed together. Steve grabs it before it can be handed off.

“Wait, wait…” Steve clings onto this one. It’s different than the rest, and now Steve is nervous. “Um, Sam, I…” 

Heaving off the couch, Steve beckons Sam to follow. This is something to be given in private. 

“You’re not about to propose to my man, are you, Steve?” Maria calls after them.

“Maybe!” Steve jokes. “We’ll see who he chooses!”

“What’s up, man?” Sam asks when they’re alone in the hall. “You okay?”

“Oh yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.” Steve manages something of a smile. “I just wanted to get you something meaningful. Something… well… here.” He hands the bag over. “You’ll understand. I hope you like it.”

Sam’s eyebrows pull in. He opens the bag and pulls out the tissue paper. The perplexed look on his face is reasonable as he takes the baseball trophy out. Sam turns it over in his hands and the confusion clears in seconds. His thumb brushes along the bottom of it. The marble stand with a name plaque that declares who this once belonged to.

“Riley,” Sam whispers. Holds the name dearly as it slips off his tongue. 

He doesn’t talk about Riley much. Same way Steve doesn’t talk about his mama. The friend that Sam lost overseas. The one he gushed about in all letters sent to Steve. Who Steve only had the pleasure of talking with over webcams. 

Steve can remember that phone call like it happened yesterday. Seven years ago with Sam sobbing on the other end. The static cutting through and terrifying Steve. He really thought Sam was dying. A part of him had that day when he watched his wingman fall from the sky. 

There had been a memorial service a few weeks later. One Steve wouldn’t have missed for anything. Even though Sam had no idea he was coming. When Sam saw Steve crossing the field towards him, there was a moment of a blank stare. Then it clicked. And Sam broke down, tossing himself into Steve’s arms.

“Is it okay?” Steve murmurs. “I… you’re not upset, right?”

Sam is still staring down at the trophy in his hands. He’s barely moving. For a moment, Steve wonders if he’s even breathing. When his eyes squeeze closed, Steve thinks he really messed up. This was supposed to be a good day. And he’s gone a ruined it. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers. “You’ve always just said how you don’t really have anything from him.” Pictures, sure. A few saved emails. But nothing personal. “You said he was always talking about playing ball when he was in school and that he knew everything about baseball. Thought maybe this would… I dunno. I got in touch with his mom and she was happy to give you something. I didn’t mean to upset you, Sammy. I’m…”

The arms around him stifle whatever it was that Steve was going to say. He can’t even remember as he holds Sam in his arms. His best friend shakes a little. Just one tremor that runs through his body like the chill of a cold and shadowed night. Then nothing. Just the stillness of their embrace.

“Thank you, Steve,” Sam whispers after several minutes. “This means the world to me.”

Sam wipes at his eyes. Gives Steve a smile before slipping the trophy back into the bag and then hugging him again. 

This is one of those moments. Steve knows it. No matter what happens here on in -- with Bucky, with Sharon, with the MoMA exhibit or school -- this moment is worth everything else failing.

Moments like these are what turns chaos into peace, and everything Steve lives for. 

___________________

The tree’s lights are the only source of illumination at the moment. Everything has been cleaned up and the place barely even looks like anyone was here at all. Barely, not completely. There are three empty bottles of wine on the kitchen counter and platters of brownies, cookies, and cake on the table, and a few scraps of wrapping paper still scattered across the floor. 

Steve’s seated on the couch. Smile on his face. Today was a good day. A really good day. Those pictures that he got as gifts are placed around the apartment. Seven altogether. A few are on the wall. Two are placed on top of the entertainment unit. Tony was right. It spruces the place up. Gives it life. The fingerprints of a home. 

A big, cardboard box sits at Steve’s feet. He hasn’t gone through it yet, but it’s here instead of in his storage unit. Steve figures it’s a step in the right direction.

On the coffee table, Steve has some of the sketches that he’s been working on for the MoMA exhibit. Really, Steve should have had them done already. It’s not like him to wait until the last minute. Which is not to say that he hasn’t been working hard on it in other ways. Ideas storming through his brain for the theme of the display. Not to mention a few pieces that are only missing that final touch. 

Steve has spent the last month designing and redesigning his work to make it just perfect. Because that’s what this needs to be. His first impression needs to be perfect. If it’s not, the foot he’s almost got slipped in the door will be stomped on and shoved right back out.

The exhibit opens a month after the new year. Steve now has only five weeks left to get the rest of this finished. To wrap it all up in a neat bow and have it all on display. As exciting as it is, Steve feels nauseous every time he thinks about it. Especially about these. The last three he’s planning. 

They aren’t anything Steve intended on ever showing anyone. But at his last meeting with Scott, the work Steve was showing him didn’t reach out the way he had hoped. 

“These are very good,” Scott had said. Steve waited for the but. “Don’t get me wrong. But...” There it was. “There’s something missing. There’s no heart to these like your other pieces. That’s one of the reasons I picked you, Steve. I can _feel_ you through your work. You’re not in these. You’re holding back. Has something happened?”

Where would Steve even start? With the young sex-worker he’s hopelessly in love with? With the fact that he’s rejected him as kindly as he can? With the incredible absence of his mama he feels during every milestone?

“No, I…” Steve tried to come up with an acceptable response only to fall short. “I…” 

That’s when Scott spotted the sketches sitting out on the table. His face had lit up. Even more than when Steve showed him the work he’d done on other pieces for the show.

“ _This_ is what I’m talking about,” Scott said. “Just look at this one. The hands, the details of them. And this one. The tears are so real.” He looked through the rest of them. “Steve, _this_ is what you should be working on.”

“O-oh…” Steve looked at the pages Scott had. “Those are… I mean they’re sorta personal.”

“Isn’t that what art _should_ be?” Scott rattled his head. “Look, you don’t need to use these if you don’t feel comfortable. But… will you at least consider it?” He held up the first pile. “These will be fine. But _these_ \--” He held up the second “--will be great.”

Steve’s agreed to think about it. And now he’s decided. These are the pieces he needs to be working on. They mean the most to him. After today, Steve knows these are the best for the show. There’s something a little less scary now about cutting himself open and pouring what’s inside onto a canvas. Not to say Steve isn’t terrified. He is. But he’s still willing to do it. Still _wants_ to do it. 

Looking over the sketches again, Steve decides it’s best to wait till morning to make any more decisions on them. He’s still too preoccupied. Thought maybe this would settle him down so he could get to bed. Instead, Steve just feels like a ball of energy. 

His body is buzzing with life and there’s no one here to share the time with. It _is_ after midnight. Steve’s been up since seven in the morning and it’s been a busy day for everyone. But… Steve can’t seem to sit still. He’s restless. And nervous.

Right now it’s officially Saturday, and while Steve hasn’t even slept yet, technically he has a date with Sharon tomorrow. They’ve confirmed it again. Talking a little more over texts when dinner was finished. Which, of course, opened Steve up for merciless teasing from his friends until he finally admitted he had a date with her. 

When he got a few other texts from Bucky, Steve made sure no one noticed him using his phone, going so far as slipping into the bathroom for some privacy. Just a can of worms Steve doesn’t need opening. 

Steve smiles and pulls his phone out again. He’s not expecting anything different. All he wants to do is read over those texts again. Steve scrolls down and starts with the first one from early this morning. They all make him grin, even chuckle. Put that warm feeling in the pit of his stomach. The kind that makes him tingle all over and smile even wider. 

Which, in turn, makes Steve close the screen and put the phone down. He’s never going to move on if he clings so tightly. Space. Some space is the only thing that’ll help. 

Seconds after the phone is down, it’s lighting up again. With a call. Bucky’s name flashing across the screen. Steve, filled with a sense of dread, immediately snatches up the phone. 

So much for space.

But Bucky never calls. Only texts. Something’s wrong. It has to be. 

“What’s wrong?” he says as soon as he answers. Words just tumbling out of his mouth before he can think them over. “Bucky, are you okay?”

“What?” There’s a chuckle on the other end. “Yeah, I’m fine, Steve. Why?”

“Oh.” Steve breathes out a sigh of relief. His throat still feels too tight and his heart is pounding, but the sound of Bucky’s voice is a help. “Nothing I just… it’s late. I got… worried.”

There’s a pause before Bucky answers. When he does, it sounds like he’s smiling.

“Yeah, I’m sorry it’s so late. I didn’t wake ya, grandpa, did I?”

Steve snickers. “No. I’m still up. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Well, I hadda come back for some last minute business that got canceled. So I was wonderin’ if I could come up for a minute? I mean, y’know, if you’re not busy or nothin’ or, like, goin’ to bed.”

Heart swelling several sizes, Steve needs a moment to gather his thoughts. The way Bucky’s asked this… it’s different than just asking to stop by.

“Come up? Bucky, are you already here?”

“I… no…” He hesitates. Fumbles over a few attempted sentences and starts again. “I mean…”

“You can come up, Buck,” Steve says, saving him from divulging anything he might not be comfortable with. “I even got some cash on me.”

“I…” Bucky chuckles softly. “Standard holiday rates. Half price.”

“You’re so sweet, kid.”

There’s another chuckle before the call ends. Steve quickly swipes up the sketches still scattered over the coffee table. He stuffs them into his sketchpad and hides it in his dresser. As though it needs to be hidden away from the world until he’s ready to unveil what secrets it holds. 

The knock on the door comes within minutes. Steve’s instincts must have been right. Bucky was already here when he called. When he opens the door, Steve can’t help laughing. 

Like when Bucky surprised Steve on Thanksgiving, he’s all dolled up. Button down shirt -- off-white -- with a pinstriped suit jacket and pants. All topped off with those cat ears. 

“Meow,” Bucky greets. Eyebrows flicking up and a silly grin on his face. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” Steve waves him on in. “You’re really gonna push this cat thing, aren’t you?”

Bucky’s shrugging out of both his winter and suit jacket. Pink brushes along his cheeks. His hand sweeps up to the top of his head, fingers clasping around the headband. Just before he can remove it, Steve takes hold of his wrist. 

“No, leave it,” he instructs. “You wanna be my kitten tonight?”

That pink deepens to a shade of red. Blossoms down to his neck as Bucky folds in a bashful smile. 

“Yes, sir,” Bucky whispers. “I’ll be your kitten.”

Steve brushes the back of his knuckles across Bucky’s cheekbone. Memorizing the soft feel of his skin. The sweet curve of it. He never wants to forget.

“Are you hungry, kitten?” Steve asks. “I have tons of leftovers. Plenty of goodies you might like.”

Bucky licks his lips. Not in that sensual way Steve’s so used to. The way that gets Steve blood pumping fast and hard. This time, he does it the way one would, looking forward to something delicious. 

“Sign me the fuck up,” Bucky replies. “But, uh, so how long you think you want me?”

_Forever?_

“Oh right.” Of course. Steve still needs to pay. Bucky’s stopped over on his own, but he’s still here on business. “Um… how long do you want to stay?”

Bucky shrugs. Kicks his shoes off and starts opening the first few buttons of his shirt.

“Whatever’s good for you, grandpa. Wouldn’t wanna mess up your sleep cycle or nothing.”

“Are you going back to Long Island?”

“Yeah.”

Nodding, Steve goes to fetch his wallet from on top of the entertainment unit to get enough for two hours. As much as he’d like to have Bucky stay his usual amount of time, if he plans on going back to Long Island, Steve doesn’t want him to leave too late. While he fishes through his wallet for the money he owes, Steve remembers what he stashed here earlier. When all his friends were over. The unopened gift. 

Stomach knotting, Steve ponders over whether or not to take it out now. This is, after all, the perfect opportunity. 

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice is quiet. Careful. “You… do you want me to go? I don’t gotta…”

“No.” Steve turns around. Money in hand. He holds it out, but Bucky has to come over to take it. “I have something for you.”

In the middle of stuffing his payment into his pocket, Bucky looks back up at Steve. Tilts his head a little. 

“What do you mean?”

“A present,” Steve clarifies. “A Christmas present.”

“Aw, Stevie!” Bucky teases. Grin turned up on his mouth. “You shouldn’t have.”

That might actually be true. This gift might not have been the wisest course of action. Steve has no idea how Bucky will feel about it.

“Not yet.” If this might cause the night to turn sour, Steve would rather it happen later. “After your treat. If you can be my good kitten.”

Biting back a smile, Bucky glances down at his feet and then peers at Steve through long lashes. 

“Meow?”

Steve snorts through a smile. Runs fingers through his own hair and turns to head for the kitchen. Bucky takes a step to follow. And stops when Steve lets his eyes fall on him. Eyebrows flicked up and a look that says _What do you think you’re doing?_

Glancing around like he’s unsure what he’s done to earn himself such an expression, Bucky asks, “What? What’d I do?”

It’s a last second thought really. Steve hadn’t considered it until Bucky started walking with him. But it could be fun and it’s something Bucky’s expressed interest in. 

“You’re quite talented,” Steve murmurs. “I’ve never seen a kitten walk like that before.”

For a second, Bucky just stares at him. Steve can see the wheels turning in Bucky’s head. When the lightbulb goes on above it a few seconds later, Bucky’s entire face turns red. Steve doesn’t say anything, but Bucky gets what he’s hinting at. He waits. Gives Bucky a moment to process what he wants him to do. 

Still trying to maintain a straight face, Bucky lowers himself to his knees, then plants his palms in front of him. Reaching down, Steve lets his hand fall in front of Bucky’s face before brushing his knuckles right along his cheekbone. Bucky responds to the touch. Nuzzling against Steve’s hand and just managing to hold onto the soft sound that tries to escape.

“That’s my good kitten,” Steve praises. “What a good boy you are. Come on. Let’s get you something as sweet as you.”

Steve steps forward then and Bucky follows. On all fours. Now Steve regrets not having his precious kitten take his clothes off first. His body, even clothed, is exquisite as he moves. Shoulders rolling, spine dipping, muscles rippling and contouring across his back in every way that drives Steve wild. 

He keeps the pace slow and steady, so that Bucky can continue beside him the whole way to the kitchen and not need to hurry. Wouldn’t matter if it took a half an hour to get there. Steve would enjoy the view the whole time. By the way Bucky tilts his chin up just slightly -- revealing the fire, the need, the _craving_ in his eyes -- Steve’s sure he’s enjoying his own view as well. 

Steve’s long given up on trying to figure out what makes him tick the way he does. This desire to have someone look up at him like that all the time. To see the adoration and need for _him_ swimming through someone’s eyes. Someone Steve can adore and need right back. His to cherish and spoil and protect -- to take care of always. 

When they reach the kitchen, Steve points to the spot right next to one of the chairs. Bucky gets the idea. He sits back on his ankles and waits while Steve goes to the fridge. 

“So what does my kitten want, hm?” Steve pretends to make a show of looking through the shelves full of leftovers. “Cake? Cookies?” He glances over his shoulder. “Chocolate pudding pie?”

The suggestion has Bucky lighting up with a smile. Eyes all sparkles and cheeks rosy. He nods. Though Steve’s said nothing about silence, Bucky seems to be dedicated to his role now.

“Pudding pie it is. Just for my little kitten.” 

Steve grabs the foil container that it’s in and the whipped cream from off the door. He wiggles the can out as an offer to Bucky. That gets a nod so Steve takes it all over to the counter where he cuts a small piece of pie -- just one -- and sprays a bit of whipped cream over it. Just a small, winding circle right in the center. 

Not bothering to put any of the stuff away, Steve grabs a fork and heads for the table. He can feel Bucky’s eyes on him the entire time. Anticipation fills every molecule in the air. Simmering and waiting to see what will happen. It’s half the fun.

So Steve just sits down in the chair Bucky’s been placed by. Puts the plate down in front of him and slices the fork through the front corner. He looks down at Bucky who gazing back at him. Lips _almost_ parted like he’s waiting to open up wide for Steve to feed him. Only instead of lowering the fork down to Bucky, Steve slips it into his own mouth. Gets quite the scandalized look from his little kitten, but Bucky stifles any complaints. 

Eyes still very focused on Bucky, Steve cuts into the pie again. Feeds himself a second time. Followed by a third. And a fourth. All watching Bucky’s pout get steadily more defined. By the fifth piece, Bucky whimpers right before Steve can get it into his mouth, and nuzzles his temple against the hand Steve’s kept on his knee. 

He nudges that hand over and over as though he’s trying to get his head under Steve’s palm. Teasing him a bit, Steve doesn’t give in to what Bucky wants. Bucky keeps at it. Nuzzling and nudging, and when he still doesn’t get what he wants by the time Steve finally tries to stick that fifth piece in his mouth, teeth sink into Steve’s skin.

It’s not hard, doesn’t hurt at all, but it does surprise the hell out of him enough that he yanks his hand away. 

“Hey!” He gasps at the shock of it. Sees the little glare on Bucky’s face and catches back up to him in seconds. “No!” Steve scolds. Holds one finger out in front of Bucky’s face. “That’s _bad_. Bad kitten.”

All that’s met with is an attempted hiss. The noise, which is meant to be a fake threat, is actually quite adorable. Steve wants to grin and chuckle. But that’s not what Bucky’s after. So Steve keeps the ice in his eyes. The steel in his voice.

“Did you just _hiss_ at me, kitten?”

He’s answered with an indignant lift of Bucky’s chin. Kid’s really pushing the bratty role tonight. Maybe even testing to see what will happen. That’s okay. Steve can work with that. He wraps a hand around the back of Bucky’s neck. Gives it enough of a squeeze that Bucky’s unable to hold back the moan. Or the slight thrust of his hips.

“I see, so you’ll only be a good kitten if you get what you want.” Everything comes out so naturally. Even without them ever playing like this before, the words fall like quick drops of rain. Steve clicks his tongue and puts his hand back down on his leg. “So disappointing.”

There’s a noise that Bucky makes at that. Something between a whimper and a whine. Without having to take a good look at him, Steve knows Bucky’s frowning now. He’s very still as he sits back on his heels again, shrinking away just a little as Steve goes back to eating the pie. 

He no longer looks at Bucky when he finally eats that piece from a few moments ago. Not when he takes the next bite. Or the next. There’s not that much chocolate pudding left to the pie, so Steve starts taking pieces from the crust. That’s when Bucky shuffles forward again. Slowly. As though unsure if he’ll be chastised for moving after the little biting stunt. 

Steve doesn’t say a word nor does he acknowledge Bucky or his advancement. He feels his determination to teach his little kitten a lesson in manners starting to slip when Bucky’s lips brush against the spot his teeth left little marks. When his lips are replaced with tiny strokes of the very tip of his tongue, Steve glances at him again. 

As if feeling Steve move, Bucky freezes -- tongue mid-lick -- and peers up at him. That frown has been replaced with big, weepy eyes and a pushed out lip. Guilt lining every feature of his beautiful face. It’s almost enough for Steve to take pity and let him off the hook completely. Except, neither of them really _want_ that. If Bucky didn’t want _this_ , he wouldn’t have pushed. 

Steve lifts his hand, but instead of petting it over Bucky’s head, he fixes it under his chin. Takes a firm grip that keeps Bucky’s eyes trained on him.

“You were a bad kitten,” Steve scolds. “Bad kittens need to be punished, don’t they?”

The way Bucky’s eyes glisten, tears hugging the corners of them, makes every bit of doubt Steve has surface fast and hard. Maybe he assessed the situation wrong. He’s about to let go of Bucky’s chin when Bucky must sense what just happened. His eyes go wide and he shakes his head _just_ enough so that Steve can feel it.

“зеленый,” he whispers. Just a slight sound that falls when he breathes. 

Green. Still green. Steve keeps his hand tight and leaves it right where it is though nothing can help the elation that soars through him at a very amazing realization. In just a matter of seconds, he and Bucky were able to communicate with a look, a touch, and just a breath of a word. 

Containing the joy of this revelation, Steve keeps a firm, hard look and picks right up again.

“You’re going to be punished, kitten,” he reprimands. “ _But_ …” Steve picks up the fork and scoops up another piece of pie. “I promised you some and I don’t break my promises. Open up, sweetheart.”

Bucky’s expression both warms and rips through Steve’s heart. So meek and docile now. His eyes craving the submission he wants to give. No more fight. Well — and this almost makes Steve chuckle — not _as much_ fight. Bucky will always be a feisty kitten. 

Lips parting, Bucky does as he’s told and takes the piece that Steve’s offered. He gently takes it from the fork. Smooth and graceful. Steve can’t help watching his mouth as Bucky chews. He’s sure the kid’s doing it on purpose. Moving his jaw in slightly exaggerated motions and then tilting his chin up enough that Steve’s eyes are drawn to his throat. 

All Steve wants to do his press his lips against Bucky. Kiss up the sensitive skin and leave his marks for the whole world to see. Bucky Barnes is _his_. For now. 

But first…

There are just about three bites of the pie left. Steve feeds them all to Bucky. Enjoying the tiny show he’s putting on. Licking his lips and savoring the taste. The sweet batting of his eyes. That submissive look still all over him.

When it’s finished, Steve wipes his finger through a bit of smeared pudding and whipped cream. He holds it out to Bucky, who, instead of sucking it off, licks it clean. 

“Come on,” Steve says. “Into the living room with you. I need to teach my little kitten a lesson.”

Bucky makes a whimpered sound in the back of his throat, but makes no other protest and obediently begins to crawl out of the kitchen. Steve doesn’t follow right away. He lets Bucky get a little ahead. Watching his body move and curve is just delicious. Completely mouth watering. 

Instructing Bucky to wait in front of the couch, Steve heads to his bedroom. Goes to his closet and brings the chest full of toys back into the living room with him. 

Bucky’s breathing picks up as soon as Steve enters the room with it. His teeth push into his bottom lip and he can’t seem to tear his gaze away. The air is thick with anticipation and impatience. Steve can practically feel it as it pumps through Bucky with each heavy beat of his heart. 

Though he knows exactly what he wants to use, Steve lets Bucky sweat it out a bit and pretends to search through the chest. It’s only a few seconds or so, but Bucky immediately has trouble staying good. He shifts about, his arousal evident by the tenting in his slacks. 

“Behave, kitten,” Steve murmurs without looking up. Voice slightly hard, slightly affectionate. The effects are immediate. Bucky releases a long held breath -- a slight moan breaking at the end -- and stills himself. 

When Steve _does_ look at him, he sees the physical effects as well. Bucky’s skin is flushed. His eyes are damn near swallowed by his pupils. They grow wide when Steve shows him what he’s gotten. 

A leather strap. 

While Bucky keeps his eyes focused completely on the strap, Steve watches him closely and slaps the strap down into his palm. The sound of it cracks through the room like lightning striking through silence. A shiver crawls through Bucky’s whole body. Makes even his fingers tremble. 

Steve knows from experience the sting of this particular toy. He’s not one for using toys like these without knowing how it feels when applied. To be honest, it probably doesn’t really make that much of a difference. His tolerance to its use and Bucky’s -- or any partner -- is going to differ even if only slightly. But he still knows the fire of the leather slapping down. The pins and needles that sink deep into flesh and muscle. 

“Okay, kitten, you’re wearing far too much. Lose it all.” Steve waits as Bucky does just that. Quickly shedding his shirt and shimmying out of his pants without standing. “Good boy.” A smile stretches along Bucky’s lips at the praise. “Now get over the arm of the couch.”

There’s a brief moment of hesitation as Bucky first glances to the couch and then back to Steve.

“I…” Bucky twists his lips. “M’not goin’ over your lap, sir?”

Ah, so that’s the problem. A problem that makes Steve dizzy and downright giddy. Bucky, from what Steve understands, _wants_ to get over his lap. Seems even a little dismayed by this change. Smirking, Steve steps closer and slides his fingers under Bucky’s chin. 

“ _Good_ kittens get nice things,” he says gently. Pulls that cute, guilty expression back out of Bucky. “You wanna be a good kitten?” Pushing his bottom lip out, Bucky’s guiltily look shifts to allow room for that young, innocent one as well. He nods. “Then do as you’re told.” 

Bucky picks himself up off the floor, whispers, “Yes, sir,” and leans over the arm of the couch. Exposing himself just for Steve. Before stepping up to him, Steve grabs a bottle of lube from the chest and places it down by his feet when he gets behind Bucky. The sight is breathtaking. It’s enough to drive Steve out of his mind. Bucky obediently bending over the couch. Toes curled. Fingers bunched into fists. Muscles pulled tight as he braces himself. Every inch of him waiting for Steve. 

Steve runs a hand down Bucky’s back. Soft and soothing. Stopping by his hip and running his thumb into tense muscles. 

“Relax, kitten. I need you to breathe for me, okay?” The breath rushes from Bucky’s lungs as his body loosens a bit. “Good boy. Hold five fingers up for me.” Shifting his weight so he can remain in the same position and do that, Bucky raises his hand. Fingers spread. “Count down for me, baby.”

Steve winds up then. Lets the leather crack over both cheeks. Bucky grunts and jerks forward, only to collide with the couch and drop his hand back down. Cheek flushed against the cushion, Bucky moans. A Russian sentiment sneaks out with it, but Steve doesn’t catch what. Bucky’s mouth is hanging open like he’s already been fucked into oblivion. 

Giving him a minute to settle again, Steve walks fingers up Bucky’s spine. Rubs the back of his neck upon reaching it.

“What are you supposed to do for me, sweet boy?” he reminds him.

It takes another few seconds, but Bucky nods and puts his hand back up. He folds his thumb in. 

The next one, Bucky’s better prepared for. It still rattles him into letting out an involuntary grunt and he just barely keeps his hand up, but his index finger goes down as a tear rolls out of the corner of his tightly closed eyes. The third, Steve applies a little stronger. Switching it up so that the leather falls more on his left cheek. Bucky moans hard and loud, letting his hips roll into the couch. Pressing his dick against it for some friction. His cheeks are bright red and he squirms as he attempts to stay in position. But instead of Bucky putting his middle finger down, his pinky rolls in. 

Steve pauses when he sees this. He chuckles silently behind him. If Bucky’s about to do what Steve thinks he is…

Licking his hand, Steve spreads his moist palm over Bucky’s hot and tender ass, making it even more sensitive. Sure enough, when Steve gives him the fourth hit, Bucky not only yelps and jerks again, he puts his ring finger down. Leaving only his middle finger up so that he’s now flipping Steve off. 

“You _little_ brat,” Steve says as he delivers the fifth strike of the leather strap hard enough that Bucky lets out a real unrestrained shout. Without allowing any sort of reprieve from that one, Steve adds another swift blow to Bucky’s sweet little ass. 

Bucky yelps again. He’s trembling and panting and struggling to stay over the couch, but dissolves into a fit of laughter. His whole body is shaking with it. Draping his own body over Bucky, Steve takes a grip in Bucky’s hair and pulls his head up. The giggles keep on coming.

“Think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“I…” He needs to catch a breath. “M’sorry, sir. I… couldn’t help it.”

“Oh, is that so?” Steve chuckles. Slaps a hand over Bucky’s _very_ tender bottom. He tries to jolt up, but Steve’s weight keeps him down. “Neither could I.”

Bucky’s breathing quite heavily now, and it’s not just from the laughter. Though Steve still has that grip in his hair, he peers over his shoulder. Down his cheeks are leftover trails of moisture. His eyes are hungry for more. _More, more, more…_

That look makes Steve ravenous. Completely at the mercy of his baser instincts and he’s devouring Bucky’s mouth with his. Sucking on Bucky’s tongue and taking in every inch he can. There’s nothing neat about it at all. The kiss is completely wanton and shameless. Teeth scraping against teeth. Lips smacking together and making wet, sloppy noises. 

It’s unclear who moans into it first, but the other follows in suit. The sounds guttural and abandoned of all senses. 

Steve reaches around to take hold of Bucky’s hard on. It’s so damn thick Steve can run his thumb over the veins that bulge against thin skin. Bucky attempts to break away when Steve touches him, but Steve refuses to let him go. The taste of him against his lips is just too good to give up yet. Even more so when Bucky starts whimpering as Steve slides his hand up and down. When Steve pulls away, Bucky puts even more strain on his hair trying to not let the kiss end. 

“You’re gonna be a good kitten now, aren’t you?” Steve drawls, his hand still working over Bucky’s cock. Thumb circling and pressing over the slit and spreading pre-come over it. 

“Yes, yes,” Bucky pants. “ _Oh_ , I’ll be, _mmm_ , I’ll be so good for you, sir.”

“ _Good_ boy,” Steve praises. Earns himself a contented smile through all the panting. “Undress me.”

Steve releases the hold on Bucky’s dick and stands up straight. The smallest of groans rumbles through Bucky’s throat, but he doesn’t protest. He takes a moment to steady himself on his feet and then does as Steve’s instructed.

This is one of Steve’s favorites. Having Bucky attend to him in such a way. He’s always so careful. As though worried he might hurt Steve in his rush to get him just as naked as he is. 

Still all dressed for the holiday, Bucky has more than usual to take off of Steve. He starts with the sweater. Gently tucking fingers under the end and slowly peeling it up and over Steve’s body. The tie is next. Expert fingers work out the knot and, being a slight tease, Bucky slowly draws it out from under Steve’s collar, letting it slip through his hand and onto the floor. He takes his time with the buttons on Steve’s shirt. Normally, Steve helps with this. Moving his body and arms so that the shirt can come off without Bucky having to move. Steve doesn’t this time and Bucky circles around him and eases it off from behind. When Bucky reaches for Steve’s belt, Steve reaches for Bucky’s cock. 

Bucky whimpers as the attention to his body returns. Fumbles with the buckle and then stops altogether. Hands clenched at the belt.

“Come on, kitten,” Steve encourages even though the cat ears have been lost to the couch. Gives a few long, _slow_ strokes over Bucky’s dick. “Be good. Keep going.”

He responds first with a scrunch of his eyes since Steve is still moving his hand over him. Then Bucky nods and shaky hands try to undo the belt again. 

It takes longer than usual, but Bucky finally gets the buckle to cooperate and he’s practically yanking the belt out of the loops. Steve chuckles. Tells him to be patient. Slow and steady. Even though Steve’s moving his hand at a much quicker pace. 

Once again, Bucky fumbles a bit. Needs to catch his breath, but this time he goes on without Steve having to prompt him. Carefully, Bucky opens Steve’s pants. He pauses after getting the zipper down. Both of them know what’s going to happen when he lowers them. In order to complete this task, Bucky needs to get to his knees. Which means Steve will have to stop touching him. The conflict is written all over his face. In the misty eyes that peer up at Steve. Does he stop again and risk being reprimanded? Or does he be good and get down on his knees to take Steve’s pants off for him? Steve could help with the decision of course. Make it easier on Bucky by just stopping right now. But he doesn’t. He waits to see what Bucky will do. Sweet, adorable Bucky trying to make the choice. 

After a few deliciously tormenting moments, Bucky chooses to be good and lowers himself down. Only making a tiny pained noise when he gets low enough that Steve takes his hand back. But Steve places that hand over Bucky’s head now. Pets over hair and face and showers his sweet boy in compliments.

“Oh you’re _such_ a good boy, Bucky,” he praises. “M’so proud of you, sweetheart. My pretty boy. My sweet kitten. Behaving so well for me.”

Bucky looks up from his chore as he guides the pants off of Steve’s ankles. He’s glowing. Shining brighter than the lights on Steve’s tree with big, wet tears in his eyes. Raised up on his knees, Bucky hums softly and rests his brow against Steve’s stomach as Steve continues to pet him. 

With Bucky pressed against him like this, Steve can feel him shake a bit. Even sniffling, though Bucky appears to be trying like hell not to do that. Sticking his hands under Bucky’s arms, Steve lifts him back up to his feet, where Bucky hastily wipes away what Steve assumes are tears. It’s hard to tell whether or not he’s really crying. Not when he gives Steve a peaceful smile. 

“Thank you,” Bucky whispers. 

Steve lets their foreheads touch. Fingers under Bucky’s chin, he slowly lifts so that their eyes meet. 

“You’re welcome, Bucky,” he says, instead of I love you, Bucky. 

Rather than risk saying something he shouldn’t, Steve drops to his knees. So quick and sudden that it must startle Bucky, since he gasps. The sound is cut off by a blissful cry when Steve stretches his lips around Bucky’s cock. 

“Oh _fuck_!” Bucky shouts. “ _Oh_ , oh, sir.”

Bucky thrusts his hips. Hard enough that it makes Steve choke and gag a bit. For that, Bucky gets a swat on the ass before Steve takes hold of his hips to keep him still. 

Steve settles into a rhythm right away. Allowing Bucky to enjoy the soft, moist heat that pulls him in. The sweet licks of Steve’s tongue as it seeks out _all_ of Bucky’s cock. All the while Bucky makes the sweetest noises. Like music. A symphony all for Steve. Panting and moaning and breathing out Steve’s name. The Russian starts when his hands slip through Steve’s hair. 

After a nice, thorough build up, all those noises start getting choked on. They back up on Bucky and his knees start to tremble.

“Sir… sir…”

Bucky whines softly when his dick falls from Steve’s mouth. Between Steve having him crawl and sit at his feet, being reprimanded and punished, praised and coddled, he’s so wound up -- so _close_ \-- that just a few little suckles might be enough to finish him off. 

“No.”

That’s all Steve says as he licks up Bucky’s inner thigh. Inching closer and closer to where Bucky longs for his mouth to return to. Steve doesn’t give him that though. Not yet. Not until his hand manages to track down the bottle of lube he dug out earlier. Squeezing some out, he slicks up his fingers and then starts to lap at Bucky’s dick again. This time forgoing any sort of rhyme or reason to his ministrations. Not falling back into any set rhythm and, instead, keeping Bucky on his toes. 

After just a bit of sucking at the head of Bucky’s cock, Steve reaches around for Bucky’s ass. Slipping just the tip of his index finger inside of his hole, Steve wraps his lips around Bucky’s dick again and then pushes in. Fingers his ass while sucking him off. 

A second finger makes Bucky scream out Steve’s name. His moans have shifted to whines and whimpers and his knees are trembling again. So Steve pulls away and stills his fingers. 

“ _Oh_ …” Bucky whines. Teeth pushed into his bottom lip hard enough to leave marks. Steve reaches up to pull it free and Bucky whispers, “Please let me come, sir.”

He’s far too coherent to allow any such thing. It’s Christmas. Steve plans on sending him home blissed out and flying high. 

Steve works his fingers in and out of Bucky again. Instead of applying his mouth, he squeezes a dollop of lube right over the tip of Bucky’s cock. The second it touches -- wet and warm and just for him -- Bucky shudders and sighs happily. Steve spreads it all on the tip with just two fingers. His thumb and index finger close around Bucky’s hard, slicked up dick and gradually slip up and down. Bucky whines as Steve keeps on doing that. Hips thrusting and seeking more satisfaction and receiving none. 

“Stop that,” Steve scolds. “Control yourself, kitten.”

“ _Mmm_ …” Bucky grits his teeth. Head tilting back he says, “Sorry, sir. Wanna come, sir.”

Steve chuckles darkly and hooks his fingers as he drags them across Bucky’s prostate. 

“You don’t _really_ think it’ll be that easy, do you?” he asks. “You do remember flipping me off, right?”

Bucky groans through his teeth. Whimpers a little and glances down at Steve. Eyes round as saucers. That plump, bottom lip quivering. 

“M’sorry, sir,” he whispers. “I won’t… I…”

“Oh sure, _now_ you’re sorry.” Steve takes a better grip on Bucky’s dick. Gives it a few good pumps and then, much to Bucky’s disappointment, lets go again. “You know, at some point, I’m going to do this to you all night.” Bucky’s head bobs to the side like he just can’t hold it up anymore and he’s practically _drooling_ at the proposal. “Hours of denial. You’ll probably hate me.” Steve gently fondles Bucky’s balls. Sliding his hand under them and giving a small squeeze. “But I’ll make it so worth it.”

“Please…” Bucky murmurs. Voice drifting as though talking in his sleep. His eyes, though on Steve, are dazed and unfocused. “That… please…” 

“Not tonight, kitten.”

No, he can’t. There’s only forty minutes left to the two hours Steve’s paid for anyway. If he wants to get Bucky on a train back to Long Island at some point tonight, it can’t be too much longer. 

Without any warning, Steve is shoving a third finger inside Bucky’s ass. Moves all three so fast, Bucky’s crying out and damn near convulsing as he tries to remain upright. The poor kid almost stumbles over when Steve takes his fingers out completely. Steve needs to catch him to keep him from falling. 

“Whoa, sweet boy.” Hand still on Bucky’s hip, Steve rises to his feet. Brushes Bucky’s damp hair away from his face. “You still with me, Buck?”

Bucky’s eyes are all glossy. He’s swaying on his feet and still needs Steve’s support so he doesn’t tumble to the floor. 

“Да,” he replies. Eyes blinking slowly as though he’s trying to keep them open. “не остановить. Пожалуйста, Продолжай. Мне нравится это.”

His voice sounds far-off and dreamy. Much like it did when he slipped into subspace. That might be what’s happening now so Steve needs to take some extra precautions. He lightly taps Bucky’s cheek. Gets him to focus just a little more.

“Baby, check in with me. In English, please.”

First his mouth plays around with a few sounds. Then a couple of started words that just don’t come out right. Frustration turns Bucky’s lips down. Steve can see it in the crease of his eyes, the pinch between them. Before he can drown in such irritation, Steve wraps him in his arms. Rubs his hands up and down his back. 

“It’s okay, Bucky. Just give me a color. I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs into Bucky’s hair. “I’ll always take care of you. One word, sweetheart. My precious kitten. Then you can let go.”

The thrill of it never ceases to amaze Steve. The amount of trust Bucky’s given to him. Enough for him to drift away like that. To _want_ to. It’s an honor and a privilege. One Steve will never forsake. 

With his brow resting against Steve’s chest, Bucky shakes his head a little. Steve can feel the sweat mixing together. 

Finally, Bucky gets out a very quiet, “Green.” 

The room spins around Steve in dizzying rotations. So alive. 

“There’s my good boy,” Steve praises. Kisses Bucky’s forehead and takes hold of his arms to guide him around to the front of the couch. “Stay right here, sweet boy.”

Bucky hums a little. Might try to whisper a response, but it’s too soft for Steve to catch. Steve digs out a condom from the back pocket of Bucky’s discarded slacks. To his surprise, there’s only one in there. Normally, Bucky comes prepared with several. In assorted sizes, colors, and flavors to boot. 

Without thinking about that -- _I hadda come back for some last minute business_ \-- Steve rolls the condom on. In front of the couch, hand on the arm of it for balance, Bucky is watching him with this head tilted. Tiny, impatient grin at the corners of his mouth. If Steve doesn’t hurry, Bucky might pounce. Or collapse in a puddle of need and desire right there on the floor. Steve’s not sure which.

“Getting antsy?” Steve chuckles. 

Bucky jerks his knee and makes a sort of helpless sound in the back of his throat. Antsy probably isn’t even the word for it. There’s only about two steps between them, but Steve takes his time crossing it. 

“ _Sir_ , please…” Bucky sounds both worn out and willing to go for hours. “Fuck me. _Please_.”

Chuckling, Steve gives Bucky’s cock one light stroke with his fingers before lowering himself to the couch where he guides Bucky onto his lap. Bucky’s eyes light up when he realizes Steve wants him to ride his cock. Steve knows why. There’s almost no angle at all in this position that _doesn’t_ hit his prostate. 

Much to Bucky’s dismay -- he whines and whimpers -- Steve stops him from slipping onto him any more than the tip of his dick. Hands cupped under Bucky’s ass, Steve keeps him where he is. 

“ _Oh_ , sir, _please_ …”

It’d be so easy to just let go. To let Bucky drop the rest of the way onto his dick. How amazing it’d feel, too. That tight warmth wrapping around Steve and bringing him where he wants to be most. The closest to Bucky he can possibly get. Well, physically. 

“Slowly,” Steve whispers. Let's Bucky slide down a little further. “Stop.” 

Bucky does, albeit with another high pitched whine and a scrunch of his face. Both their bodies are shiny with sweat. Needing so much more. Instead of lowering Bucky down some more, Steve lifts up a little. Makes Bucky’s jaw drop as he’s filled up that much more. 

“Oh, _no_ …” Bucky whimpers when Steve settles his hips down again. Pulling out a little and still refusing to allow Bucky to get anymore. “I… _please_ … I need…”

“You _need_?” Steve taunts. And does the very same thing again. Hips lifting a little. Filling Bucky just that much more and then snatching it away again. “ _You_ need what I say you need, don’t you, sweet boy.” He does it again. This time inching in just a bit farther before pulling back. The torture to himself made delicious and worth it by Bucky’s squirming body and needy, unabashed sounds. “Cause _I_ know what you need.” 

Hands on Steve’s knees, Bucky’s head drops back with a spacey groan. The words, it seems, have more power to send him flying away than the act. Bodies trembling, but otherwise still, Steve keeps them in that same position. Bucky just inch past Steve’s cockhead and aching for more.

Steve says, “I’ll always give you what you need. Even when you’re a bad boy.” He squeezes Bucky’s ass. _Hard_. Still so hot and tender from the strap that it makes Bucky gasp and jerk his head up, only to have it fall back again. “ _Especially_ when you’re a bad boy. I take care of what’s mine. And you’re _mine_ , Bucky,” Steve growls. “You’re _all mine_.”

“Yes…” Bucky breathes. Panting hard and heavy as a few tears drip down the sides of his face. Lost in an endless current of sensation and emotion. “Yours… yours, Steve.”

That’s enough to make Steve want to burst. Both joy and misery rushing through him with each beat of his heart. Bucky’s his. And not his at all. Not when he leaves and the world takes him away from Steve again. But right here, right now, Bucky’s _his_. 

Unable to hold back anymore -- and knowing damn well he’s brought Bucky right to the very edge -- Steve slips his hands away from Bucky’s ass and thrusts up inside of him. Bucky shrieks at the shock of it, at the pleasure shooting through him so suddenly. 

Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist and thrusts, letting Bucky rock his hips in whatever rhythm they can find in their haste. He pounds into him. Hits that buried spot with each push and has Bucky sobbing out his name.

“Steve!” He’s panting and trembling and trying to keep the grip he has on Steve’s knees. “Please! Oh _please_ , sir!”

The only response Steve gives is pumping his hand over Bucky’s cock. Showing him no pity and not granting the sweet permission of release just yet.

“Not yet,” Steve grunts. 

Bucky’s still shouting. Still pleading, but not letting himself go. Following Steve’s orders and holding back, even in subspace. Steve’s riding the high of such a feeling. Bucky can easily shoot off and isn’t. He’s listening because he wants to. It probably helps that this is what Steve’s paid for, but there’s at least some part of Bucky -- and Steve’s almost positive it’s a large part -- that _wants_ to listen to Steve. Gets off on obeying just as much as Steve gets off on his obedience. 

“ _Mmm_ … gotta… I gotta… _oh, sir_! I gotta come!” Bucky shrieks. “Пожалуйста… oh, _please_ say I can!”

“You wanna come, kitten?”

“Oh, yes!” Whatever’s left of the poor boy’s voice is strained with hope. “Yes, yes! _Please_!”

“Is that how kittens ask?”

Lips folding in, Bucky’s eyes squeeze closed. A few more tears leak out as he attempts to lift his head. It’s like he’s trying to still himself as much as possible in order to keep his growing orgasm from escaping. Not that Steve makes it easy for him. Hands on Bucky’s hips, he keeps rocking them anyway.

When Bucky gets his head back up, his expression is completely lost to another world. Everything is pure, unadulterated _want_. His mouth opens and closes as though he’s trying to speak and finds himself rendered incapable of such a simple task.

“That’s it, kitten. That’s right,” Steve encourages. “You can do it. Just one little word and it’s all yours. It’s gonna feel so good, baby. Just tell me how kittens ask.”

Bucky’s trembling all over but he gets his mouth to open. His lips form words. Only sounds come out until he gulps in a deep breath. Lip quivering, just a breath of word slips out.

“M… m… meow…”

The heat that shoots through Steve’s body is way too much to contain. It curls around every inch of him. Skin, bone, muscle. And bursts through him in a beating pulse of electricity as he spills out into the condom.

“Oh God, kitten,” Steve pants as his orgasm slowly ebbs out. “You’re so good… s-so good for me. Come, baby. Go on. Let go.”

Bucky goes completely silent. Like the sudden permission for release is too much for him to believe. His head dips back again and when it does, his elbows buckle. Steve wraps an arm around Bucky’s body to keep him from falling off of his lap _just_ as ribbons of semen streak between them. The smallest of sounds escape Bucky’s throat as Steve quickly secures him in his arms and then lowers him onto the couch. 

They remain like that for several moments. With Bucky under Steve, and Steve holding onto him like he might fall again. Bucky doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t try to move. He just lays there as his breathing slowly returns to normal. 

“Hey, sweet boy,” Steve whispers once he catches his breath as well. Runs a hand at the side of Bucky’s face. Tapping lightly to see if he’ll open his eyes. 

The kid looks completely wrecked sprawled out there on the couch. One arm draped over his eyes, the other hanging off the cushions. Damp hair sticking to his face. Sweat dripping down his flushed skin and tears still leaking. Body still shaking all over. 

“You’re safe, baby.” Steve swipes some hair away from Bucky’s forehead. The last time Bucky came out of subspace, he panicked. Steve’ll do anything he can to keep him calm this time. “I’m so proud of you. You did so well.” Steve tries again. “Bucky? It’s me. Steve. Can you hear me, sweetheart?”

Bucky’s nose crinkles. He lets out a very soft sound. Something between a moan and a hum. His index finger lifts up. The best indication that he can, in fact, hear Steve, even if he can’t find his voice or his way back to him just yet. Not fully.

“Okay,” Steve says. “Okay. Can I… I’m gonna get something to clean up with, okay? Two seconds.”

Chest inflating with a deep breath, Bucky shifts the arm over his eyes. Not enough to reveal his face, but he flicks his fingers in a shooing sort of motion. Steve chuckles and hurries to do that.

First cleaning off in the bathroom, Steve wets a washcloth with warm water and then stops off in the kitchen for an ice pack, the aloe-vera, and a bottle of water. 

Back in the living room, he finds Bucky in the exact same position. His mouth is hanging open a bit. Like he just can’t muster up the strength to keep it closed. Bucky licks his lips when the cushions shift as Steve sits back down. 

“I’m gonna move your arm, okay?” Steve says though he doesn’t wait for a response -- one he might not even get right now since Bucky still seems pretty locked in -- and simply guides his arm away from his face. Meets no resistance either.

Using the cloth, Steve wipes the sweat and tears off of Bucky’s face and then gently cleans the semen off his stomach and chest. Once finished with that task, Steve folds up the washcloth and tosses it on the coffee table. When he looks back at Bucky, he finds himself being watched under a pair of half-lidded eyes. 

“Hey, baby,” Steve murmurs. Soft and gentle. Just like the way he caresses Bucky’s jaw in his palm. “You coming back?” 

The first answer he gets to that is Bucky blinking very slowly. For a second, Steve thinks he might even keep his eyes closed again. Only they open a few seconds later. A little more this time and start to wander about, beginning to take in their surroundings. 

“It’s okay, Bucky,” Steve sooths. “Take your time. There’s no rush.”

It takes a little while longer, but gradually, the fog starts to lift and Bucky’s able to focus a little better.

“S-Steve?” he slurs. Not fully reconnected yet. “That’s… Steve?”

“Yeah, Buck, it’s me. It’s Steve. You’re okay, baby. You’re safe. I’m gonna take care of you.”

He takes in a deep breath and hums softly on the exhale. Bucky tilts his head back just enough to see behind him. Hands groping about above his head, Steve can only assume he’s trying to get hold of the cat ears and can’t quite seem to manage. So Steve leans over and takes them for him.

“You want these?”

Bucky’s eyes glisten while the rest of him looks a little embarrassed. Given the state he’s slowly coming out of, he has no way to hide it either. 

Steve chuckles lightly. Says, “It’s okay, Bucky. Do you?”

Bucky looks back at Steve with this adorable little expression. Almost pouty but also like he wants to run and hide. Doesn’t look like he can really engage in any sort of real conversation yet. Not without feeling even more embarrassed. 

“Okay.” Steve brushes Bucky’s hair back and then slips the headband over his head. “Good?” Bucky shakes his head. “No?”

If that’s not what he wanted to do with them, then Steve’s at a total loss. Until Bucky’s holding his arms out to him. With a giddy dance in his heart, Steve understands.

“Come here, kitten.” 

Steve scoops Bucky up and helps him into his lap. Bucky folds into his embrace. Head pressed right under Steve’s chin and arms tangled with Steve’s. 

There’s a blanket on the back of the couch. Still here from earlier in the day when Pepper was feeling cold. Steve grabs it and drapes it around Bucky. 

“My good boy,” Steve whispers as he rubs his hands up and down Bucky’s arms. “You’re such a good boy, Bucky.”

Steve can feel him shake a little. Like he might be crying.

“Hey,” Steve whispers. “Are you okay?”

“Mhm.” Bucky cuddles closer. A grin lifting on his lips. “Good. Real good.”

Not a bad cry then. Just the release of emotions as he sinks back down into himself. Steve picks up the water bottle and has Bucky take sips from it. Keeps him warm and safe in his arms. 

The soft weeping subsides after a few minutes. When it does, Bucky starts nuzzling again. Right into Steve’s shoulder. Taking that as a cue, Steve pets over Bucky’s head and down his neck. He does this a few times. Then stops when he hears a noise.

“Are you…” Steve holds in a laugh. “Are you trying to _purr_?”

All Bucky’s really doing is rolling his tongue against his front teeth — the noise from that making a vibrating sound. Still, Bucky chuckles at the question and rubs against Steve some more. Goes on making that cute, little sound. 

“You’re too cute, kid,” Steve murmurs. “My little kitten.” He kisses the top of Bucky’s head. “You think I can check you out now, Buck? Make sure you’re okay?”

Bucky sighs a little, but moves enough to get a good look at Steve. Or maybe so that Steve can get a good look at him since Bucky’s pulled out that wicked submissive expression. 

“I’m… I was… a good kitten, right? Sir?”

“You were…” Oh. _Oh_. Steve chuckles. Remembers what he said to Bucky earlier. “Yes, sweetheart, you were a very good kitten. You can go over my lap now.”

He tries so hard to contain his smile. That shy one. Steve really wishes he wouldn’t. Wonders if anyone will ever make Bucky comfortable enough to show it.

“Come on, Buck. Let me look at you.”

Nodding, Bucky unfolds himself out of Steve’s embrace and, pretty gracefully, turns over in one lithe roll. Ends up perfectly positioned over Steve’s lap. Head resting comfortably in his folded arms. 

Steve puts the blanket over him again, leaving his ass uncovered. There’re a few bruises already forming. A welt on his lower left cheek. All the skin is still very red. And probably quite tender, so Steve is extra gentle when he places the ice pack down. 

Bucky hisses and tenses the second it touches his skin. With his free hand, Steve rubs his back and Bucky releases the tension almost immediately.

“I’ve got you, kitten. It’s okay.”

By the time Steve’s rubbing the aloe-vera over Bucky’s bottom, the redness has almost completely faded and Bucky’s humming contently whenever Steve’s hand rub the right spot. 

“Hey, Stevie?” Bucky whispers. 

“Yeah, Buck?”

“You… you said somethin’ about… a present? For lil’ ol’ me?” 

Steve’s hands freeze. He’d almost forgotten that he’d said anything to Bucky about that. Now he wishes he hadn’t. 

“Um… yeah, I do.”

He glances over to see Bucky’s face. It’s not fair. The way he’s looking at him. Eyes lit with genuine excitement. Corners of his lips twitching. Such an expression should be illegal. At least coming from this kid. With Bucky looking at him like that, Steve knows he’ll do anything he ever wants.

Taking hold of Bucky’s hand, Steve helps him to sit up and then goes to get the gift. Bucky leans back against the couch like he’s still recuperating, but he wiggles a little. An excited little movement. Steve can only hope the emotion lasts. 

The box isn’t that big. Maybe about the size of a book. Steve hangs onto it for a moment before handing it over. 

“If you don’t like it,” Steve says. “It’s okay. Don’t… I mean it’s nothing…” He sighs and lowers himself back onto the couch. A bit more space between them now. “It’s okay if you don’t want it.” 

Now Bucky appears confused. Eyebrows stitched as though he can’t imagine why Steve’s so nervous about such a little gift. At first, Steve’s not sure if he’s going to open it at all. Maybe that’s for the best. But then Bucky slides his finger into the paper. Carefully, like he doesn’t want to make a mess. He lifts a taped corner and peels the gift wrap off. When he lifts the cover off the box, Steve holds his breath. Looks like Bucky’s stopped breathing, too.

It’s been awhile since the checklist. Since Bucky struggled over that one option. The one Steve’s presented to him right now. A black, leather collar, coiled in the middle of the box. Nickel buckles with an option to add a small lock and a black centered ring. Bucky’s fingers skim over leather. He’s staring at the collar, face unreadable. He lets out a small sound. Steve’s not sure what it means. 

“Steve,” Bucky breathes. “I… I…” His head shakes. “I can’t take this. I… I shouldn’t have…”

“It’s okay, Buck,” Steve says. Feels wounds he didn’t even know were there opening up. “I understand.”

It was a longshot to begin with. Getting a collar for Bucky. Steve knows how it would mean to him personally if he accepted it. More than just a prop for a fun night. An expression of… well, Bucky’s submission. Of Bucky handing over a piece of himself to Steve. Of Steve’s promise to cherish and protect that piece. Perhaps it means the same to Bucky. And that’s too much. Way too much. 

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Bucky whispers. “I…”

“It’s my fault,” Steve mutters. “I should have discussed it more with you. Don’t be upset, please?” Bucky’s been a saint since the start of all this. Never one to make things unpleasant or awkward. Steve can return the favor, even with this cold feeling rushing through him. “Here, I’ll…”

When Steve reaches for the box, to rid them of the source of discomfort, Bucky recoils. Pulls the box and collar away from Steve’s reach like it will pain him to let go of it. His eyes go wide when he realizes what he’s done. As though he’s acted without thinking. Mouth falling open a little, Bucky looks back at the collar. 

“Maybe…” He swallows hard. Seems to run over a few thoughts before settling on one. “Maybe I can try it on? Just… for fun?”

He’s still staring at the collar. Holding onto the box like he’s afraid to let it go. Steve puts a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. The sudden contact must startle Bucky. He shudders and snaps his gaze back up to Steve.

“Are you… are you sure, Bucky?” Steve asks. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“I…” 

His mouth hangs open as thoughts are left unspoken. Bucky looks… scared. The poor thing looks at Steve like he’s never been so scared in his life. Steve’s about to let loose a string of apologies. Tell Bucky he shouldn’t have done this at all. That he’s so sorry and he’ll never do it again without speaking to him first. But Bucky reaches into the box before Steve has the chance to say any of it. His hand wraps around the soft leather and carefully lifts the collar out of the box. 

With the box sitting in his lap, Bucky holds the collar gently in both hands and slowly offers it to Steve. 

Steve wants to ask again if Bucky’s really sure about this. He wants to know for a fact that this isn’t something Bucky’s feeling pressured into doing just because he’s being paid for another twenty minutes of service. But it looks as though handing the collar over for Steve to put it on is hard enough. Talking, at the moment, doesn’t seem like an option at all. 

So Steve, filled with both apprehension and excitement, just takes the collar from Bucky. Still wanting to give Bucky time to back out of this, Steve doesn’t do anything at first. The two of them continue to stare at each other. The night fills with thick anticipation and nerves. Waiting. Until Bucky drops his eyes and slowly turns. Though his hair isn’t long enough to get in the way, he still lifts it in the back to give Steve full access to his neck. 

Drawing in a deep breath, Steve, careful and gentle, brings his hands around to the front of Bucky’s throat where he slowly wraps the leather collar around him. He’s sure not to make it too tight, leaving just enough space for him to be able to slip fingers between skin and leather. As Steve secures the buckle in place it dawns on him that this is the most intimate moment he’s ever spent with Bucky. 

It’s as though Bucky’s ripped himself open. Even if it’s just for this moment. Even if it ends completely once the collar comes off -- which it undoubtedly will -- Steve still has this. This brief moment in time when Bucky let himself be more vulnerable than ever. More so when he’s let Steve spank him, tie him up, when he’s kneeled at Steve’s feet, crawled for him, when Bucky’s shared things that he keeps locked up tight inside of him -- it’s right now that Steve feels as though Bucky’s showing him his heart. 

The second Steve’s finished with the buckle, he places his hands on Bucky’s shoulders and the kid immediately relaxes all his muscles. He lets out a contented sigh and the hand that’s been holding his hair up moves down to touch the leather at his throat. 

He doesn’t turn back around. Bucky just stays faced away from Steve as his fingers slide along the collar. Even from behind, the collar looks beautiful on Bucky. The leather resting comfortably against his sweat-dried skin. 

“Steve?” Bucky whispers. 

Steve’s heart is pounding. So hard he wouldn’t be surprised if Bucky could hear it as it beats against his chest. 

“Yeah?” Steve answers just as quietly. 

“I… I did something… stupid. Tonight.”

It’s quiet for just a breath. A heartbeat of time as Steve questions whether or not he should move closer to Bucky. To put a hand back on his shoulder. Maybe even ask Bucky to face him.

Instead of doing any of that, Steve remains where he is. In the place Bucky clearly wants him to be at the moment.

“Okay.” He keeps his voice even, though the concern and even fear rattles through his bones. “Do you wanna tell me?”

Everything is so still and quiet around them. All Steve can really take note of is the rhythmic rise and fall of Bucky’s shoulders as he breathes. 

“I lied to you. Before. I didn’t… I didn’t really come back to see a customer. I came back cause I hoped that Clint would be home. He wasn’t though.”

“I don’t…” Steve keeps in mind that Bucky’s trying to tell him something. Something that must not just end there. “Why did you want to be with Clint? Did something happen?”

Still not turning around, Bucky nods. Goes on without any further prompting by Steve.

“Nat’s at her grandma’s in Jersey. She won’t be back till tomorrow. Mom and Becky are lightweights.” He chuckles slightly. “They were asleep early. I… I didn’t wanna be alone. Cause I texted… I texted…” Bucky’s voice trails to a whisper. “Brock. In the evening.”

Eyes falling closed, there’s a side of Steve that’s screaming. That part of him that wants to demand of Bucky to tell him why. _Why_ would you put yourself through that?

But Steve knows enough to acknowledge that that side of him is wrong to rely on anger to work this out. Bucky’s been hurt enough already. Has given his trust to someone only to have it trampled all over. It hasn’t even been a full week since Brock walked out on him. He can’t expect Bucky to just heal over night.

What matters is that Bucky trusts _Steve_ right now. Enough, at least, to tell him this. Steve can’t betray that. 

“And he didn’t answer?” Steve questions, though he thinks that might actually be what he’s _hoping_ for rather than what he expects. 

The latter, happens to be correct. 

“No actually… he… did,” Bucky admits. He keeps those fingers skimming over the collar. Like maybe the leather is encouraging him. “I just said Merry Christmas. He said… same to you. That’s it. He didn’t ask if I was okay or nothin’. So I…” His voice cracks. “I asked him how the day was. Asked what he did. He told me it was fine. Then nothing. You know last Christmas we texted all day. He’d even sent a box of my favorite chocolates to me. Now it’s like… I meant… nothing.”

“Bucky…”

 

“It was stupid. I was stupid to text him at all, I know that. I _know_ Brock never felt like that for me, I swear, Steve, I know. I just… it’s so fuckin’ weird to think that he wants nothing to do with me now. He was… so _good_ to me, Steve. He really was. And now?” Bucky sighs. “I’m so stupid. I’m sorry.”

“ _Hey_.” Steve doesn’t mean for it to come out so hard. A bite, sharp and quick. But hearing Bucky say such things just pulls it out. He doesn’t care now and moves around Bucky to sit in front of him. “Look at me, Bucky.” 

Bucky keeps his chin lowered, but still lifts his eyes. They’re swimming with moisture. Tears skimming along the brim and wetting his lashes. “You’re not stupid, baby. Okay, so maybe you shouldn’t have texted him. It probably would have been better for you if you didn’t. But you have _nothing_ to apologize for. This isn’t an easy thing, sweetheart. You’re hurting. It’s going to take time.”

“I just… I want him to talk to me.” Bucky huffs and scrubs his palms over his face. “I don’t know _why_. I just wish I knew if he _ever_ cared about me. It’d be so much easier if I could just hate him but I… I…”

“You love him.” 

The words burn through Steve’s throat. Set fire to his tongue. He’s never hated the word so much. But when he says it, Bucky looks up at him as though he has no idea how to really answer that. He looks confused. Sad and confused. 

“I don’t… wanna talk about this anymore.”

“Okay.”

Of course it’s okay. Steve’ll never make him talk about something he really doesn’t want to talk about. 

It’s quite for a minute or so. Then Bucky lifts his chin enough to stretch out his neck. His lips pull up into a smirk and Steve knows he needs to move back into a place that’s not heavy and serious.

“So how’s it look?” he asks.

 _Perfect_.

“It looks very nice on you.” Steve flicks one of the cat ears on Bucky’s head. “Very appropriate.”

Bucky chuckles softly. 

“Am I your _pretty_ kitty?”

He asks like he’s joking, but Steve’s learned enough about Bucky that he knows little compliments really mean a lot to him. 

“Pretty,” he repeats. Leans in and kisses Bucky’s cheek. “Beautiful.” Steve kisses the other. “Sexy.” He kisses his nose. “Gorgeous.” 

When Steve pulls away, he finds Bucky once again holding onto that grin of his. Eyes glassy and his cheeks all rosy. He might be trying to hold back his smile, but the giggle comes out anyway as he falls into Steve’s lap. He snorts out an amused moan and rolls onto his back, keeping his head rested on Steve.

“Why’re you so good to me, Stevie?” he asks. Bucky’s looking up at Steve, but his fingers are trailing along the collar. Absently. 

“Aren’t any of your other customers good to you?”

“Well yeah, sure.” Bucky shrugs. “But you… I mean it’s like we’re… we’re… friends.”

“Friends?” The thought dances happily along the edge of Steve’s heart. “Is that what we are?”

Finger hooked through the ring of the collar, Bucky chews the inside of his cheek and peers back up at Steve.

“Is that… okay? Even though I… I mean you’re… my customer?”

More than that. It’s wonderful.

“I think maybe that’s okay,” Steve chuckles and adds a pinch to Bucky’s cheek. “I don’t mind being friends with you.”

For a second, Bucky doesn’t respond beyond a blink. As though he can’t believe what Steve’s just said. A smile breaks across his face like dawn rising over night. 

“Hey, baby, why _wouldn’t_ I want to be friends with you?” Steve asks. Then rattles his head. “No, don’t answer that.” Because Steve knows what Bucky’ll say. That he doesn’t think anyone would even feel comfortable being friends with him because of what he does. 

Folding his lips in, Bucky closes his eyes and just gives Steve another nuzzle. They stay like that, settling into a comfortable silence, for another few minutes until Bucky glances at the time.

“I gotta go,” he says. Lifts off of Steve and then freezes. “Oh.”

His fingers touch the collar again. Steve watches as Bucky shifts about, his hands fidgeting more at the leather. He looks torn between wanting to keep it on and asking Steve to remove it or even simply taking it off himself. 

“Do you want me to take it off?” Steve offers. Giving him the choice of not having to ask himself.

Bucky shifts his weight a bit more. Side to side and tugs on his ear. He hesitates, but then turns back around. Lifting his hair again, still afraid as though it might get in the way. Steve steadies his breathing and tries not to fumble with the buckle. He doesn’t want to upset Bucky in any way. 

It comes off easily, but Steve can feel the reluctance around it. Maybe the collar likes being there. Maybe no one really wants it to disappear, even if it’s for the best. 

He stays on the couch as Bucky puts his clothes back on. Watches as each layer threatens to close him off again. The only thing Steve puts back on are his boxers. He’ll grab sweats after Bucky leaves. 

“Are you, uh,” Bucky says when he’s finished dressing. “Are you just gonna return it?”

Steve glances down at the collar, still in his hands. This wasn’t something just picked up at a store. He’d gone to a website. Customized it. Had to make guesses at the size that would be best for Bucky, but it was worth it. Even to only have him wear it for a few minutes. Steve got to see Bucky’s heart. Bucky felt enough to share it with him. A few minutes of wonder. Shooting stars through nighttime skies. 

“No,” he answers. Still looking at the collar before raising his gaze to meet Bucky’s eyes. “I think I’ll hang onto it.”

A reminder. A treasure he has to remind him of the most precious moment when Bucky Barnes wore his heart right out on his sleeve.

“Oh _really_?“ Bucky sasses. Eyebrows flicked up and lips pursed in a cocky smirk. “You gonna give it to one of your _other_ kittens? Someone who _really_ deserves it?”

Steve can’t answer that right away. Something about the way Bucky asks that makes his stomach turn. He’s trying to pull off an air of arrogance. Just a joke. But he’s not as good as he thinks. Or maybe Steve’s just gotten to know him well enough to see. Either way, Steve can’t stand the thought. Not just of presenting _this_ collar to someone else, but as if Bucky’s not deserving of this one. Steve hates it. Hates that Bucky thinks so lowly of himself sometimes. Hates even more that these thoughts are not organic, but planted by someone else. Watered and raised and nurtured until they took root as a part of him. 

Rising off the couch, Steve approaches Bucky very slowly. For a second, Bucky looks back at him as though he has no idea what to expect. Steve places one hand at Bucky’s neck and holds the collar up. 

“This is _yours_ , sweetheart,” he says. “It’ll never go to anyone else. This belongs to my friend Bucky.”

Bucky’s mouth opens like he means to answer in some way, but open his mouth is all he can do since it suddenly pulls up into this huge, bright smile. He dips his head down and lets out a muffled laugh. 

“ _Oh_.” He’s still trying to contain his laugh, but Steve can’t miss the thrill that’s surrounded his entire body. It’s contagious as it seeps out of him. “Oh man. I… I gotta go.” Bucky’s still smiling. Grinning ear to ear. “I gotta. I gotta go.”

Though he keeps saying that, Bucky doesn’t seem to know quite how to go about doing it. He starts to move for the door, stops and then tries again. 

Steve chuckles. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He nods his head. Quick and fevered and he looks up at Steve with sparkles in his eyes. “I’m gonna go.”

“Okay.” Steve snickers as Bucky once again heads for the door. He almost makes it there before swirling around and hustling back over to throw his arms around Steve’s waist. “Whoa,” Steve chuckles. “Hi there.”

Bucky tightens his grip and might say hi back, but it’s too covered by another laugh. 

“Thank you, Steve,” he does get out, though the smile is still clear in his voice. 

“For what, Buck?” Steve asks, running a hand down Bucky’s neck.

Still wrapped around Steve, Bucky shrugs his shoulders. Says, “I dunno. For… for wantin’ to be my friend. I guess.” 

“Of course, sweet boy.”

Hugging him tighter, Steve kisses the top of Bucky’s head. He probably shouldn’t now that their time is up, but Bucky doesn’t make any objections. In fact, he squeezes once more before letting go. 

“Alright, I…” He’s still trying to stifle that laugh. “I’m gonna go now.”

He tears away before Steve can do or say anything and makes a mad dash for the door. Only pauses to grab his jacket. Bucky’s halfway out the door by the time Steve can get over there.

“Hey, Bucky?”

Nearly tripping over his own two feet, Bucky halts and spins back around. 

“Yeah?”

“Text me when you get home. Okay, good boy?”

“Yeah!” Bucky probably doesn’t mean to say it so excitedly. His face fills with a blush. “Yeah. Okay, sir. Okay. I’ll… I’ll text you. When I get home. M-Merry Christmas, Steve.”

“Merry Christmas, Bucky.”

He darts out the door then. Big smile still on his face. Steve’s grinning when he shuts the door. The collar is still clenched in his hand.

Okay, so maybe Bucky’s not interested in starting any sort of romantic relationship with him. That’s okay. It would be okay no matter what, but knowing that Bucky wants him as — and considers him — a friend, just about makes his heart fly away. 

When Steve plops back down on the couch, his toes nudge the corner of the box he slipped under the coffee table earlier. He stares at if for a moment. Feels the things inside calling to him. Today was a good day. A great day even. Might as well give it a shot. 

Steve pulls it back out and lifts the lid off. He takes out the first frame in there which, incidentally, is the very same picture that Bucky had been looking at the other day. The one of Steve and his mama on the last birthday Steve had with her. There are plenty more in the box, but he’ll get to those later. For now, Steve puts this one down on the coffee table. There’s something he needs to do. Something he couldn’t do today. Hasn’t been able to do for ten years.

Looking at the picture -- Steve sticking his tongue out through a silly grin, with Mama’s arms tucked around him, and a beautiful smile of her own -- Steve leans forward and smiles at it.

“Hi, Mama,” Steve murmurs. “It’s been a while.”

***

The little Italian restaurant is everything one would expect from a little Italian restaurant. Tables covered in cotton tablecloths and donned with vases of pretty flowers. Walls covered in black and white photos of famous guests that have visited and -- as a nice touch -- various Van Gogh paintings. There’re shelves of wines behind the counter with dripping vines of fake grapes, and Italian music plays softly throughout the dining room. It smells of cheese and sauce and baking. 

A bouquet of flowers sits at the edge of the table all wrapped up in plastic wrap. Yellow tulips that made Sharon smile, and tease Steve about being cheesy even though she lifted them to her nose to sniff. 

Steve doesn’t know what he was nervous about. Sharon is just as pleasant as she always is and it’s still easy to be around her. Even if this is a date. 

“Did you get all your grades yet?” Sharon asks as she digs into her pasta primavera. 

“Yeah,” Steve answers. “Three A’s and two B’s.” 

Sharon gives him an impressed grin. “Not too shabby, mister.”

“Why thank you,” he chuckles. “How bout you, Sharon? How’d you do?”

“Oh, I got straight A’s.” She shrugs and takes a sip of her wine.

“ _Well_!” Steve exclaims. “I didn’t realize I was out with a genius!”

Laughing, Sharon wipes her mouth with her napkin and pretends to take a bow.

“Thank you, thank you. I do my best.”

They go on chatting. Teasing and poking fun at each other here and there. Making typical first date-like conversation. Steve already knows Sharon’s favorite book is _The Time Machine_ , but apparently her favorite movie is _Casablanca_. She loves the beach and is an avid snowboarder. 

“Snowboarding? Really?”

“Oh yeah,” Sharon replies. “I’ve been doing it for years. Salt Lake City has some great trails. Powdered snow and all.”

“Is there… is there a difference?”

She nods and swipes a piece of bread through the sauce left on her plate as she goes on to explain the difference between powdered and compacted snow. Sharon offers to take him some time before the winter is over to which Steve scoffs a laugh.

“Strapping my feet to a board and trying to get me to go down a hill without rolling into a huge ball of snow? Not likely.”

“Aw, come on!” Sharon laughs. “I’ll show you all the things you need to know!”

“No, no. My friend Tony tried to take me once. I, uh…” Steve chuckles. “I ended up in the hospital with a broken ankle. Broken bones are the only way to get me to sit down I guess.”

Not meaning to say that last part, Steve feels his entire face warm with a blush. When Sharon asks about it, Steve goes on to explain he might just be a _little_ stubborn -- he pinches his fingers together -- when it comes to getting things right. 

“Maybe I can take you bowling next time?” he offers. “It might be safer.”

Smiling, Sharon leans back in her chair. Head tilted like she’s part of some inside joke that Steve’s missed.

“What?” Steve asks. Checks himself to make sure there’s no sauce or cheese from his baked ziti on his shirt. “What’d I do?”

“Nothing.” She shakes her head. Grin still teasing her lips. “Next time, huh? Is there gonna be a next time?”

Stomach sinking, Steve now understands the look. He just made that assumption. For all he knows, Sharon’s just tolerating him. Steve doesn’t _really_ think that, but, he can’t assume otherwise. 

“Oh.” He fiddles with the spoon still resting on the table. Moves it this way and that even though it offers no help. “Um, I mean, if you want.”

“That sounds good to me. But…” Of course there’s a but. “I think it’s only fair for me to tell you that I’m…” For the first time since meeting her, Sharon actually looks a little nervous. “Well my divorce only finalized this summer I’m not really _looking_ for anything serious. I don’t want to lead you on or anything, but I’m okay with playing things by ear? Is that alright with you?”

While Steve _is_ looking for something more serious, this works for him just fine. It’s not like he’d want to pressure Sharon into something she didn’t want and he enjoys spending time with her. And, well, Steve likes her. A lot actually. Maybe, if things go smoothly, this could be the start of something more. He can move forward.

“That works for me,” he agrees. 

Steve reaches across the table and gently places his hand down on Sharon’s. His heart is beating a million miles a minute and the room is suddenly ten degrees warmer, but Sharon turns her hand and fits it with Steve’s. Eyes lifting, they catch each other’s gaze and smile.

They end up staying till closing. Sharing several desserts -- tiramisu isn’t all it’s cracked up to be -- and probably an entire pot of coffee between them. Their conversations have never once run dry. Sharon tells him about her ex-husband, Scott, and their relationship throughout high school. Steve shares a little about his sickly childhood and life out in California. 

There’s teasing and lighthearted talks about fruits -- Sharon’s favorite are apples -- and goldfish -- _I had about eleven_ , Steve tells her -- and an already established rivalry since Sharon’s a Met’s fan.

“So, bowling?” Steve asks when they’re standing outside together. 

The night is quite beautiful. It’s snowing. Calm and peaceful, as soft flakes guided by gentle winter winds fall from the sky. 

Sharon smiles warmly and nods.

“Are you free this week?” 

“My hours are pretty flexible.” Steve’s got the exhibit pieces to work on and he’s picked up hours at the art office on campus. “When did you have in mind?”

“Let’s see.” Sharon’s eyes glance up towards the sky as she quietly runs through a list of things she’s doing during the week. All that Steve catches is lunch with Skye tomorrow and drinks with Gabe on Friday. “How’s Thursday?”

“Thursday's…” No good because Steve has Bucky over. His friend. Who he just happens to pay to have sex with once a week. Right. Steve can’t see this blowing up in his face. Not at all. “Sorry, I can’t do Thursday.”

“Okay, no problem,” Sharon says, placing a gloved hand on Steve’s bicep. “What about Wednesday instead?”

“That… that works,” Steve responds. A little too quietly. Puts a bit more energy in his voice when he adds, “Now, you might be good at darts and pool, but _I_ will show you what it takes to bowl.”

“Is that so, Mr. Rogers?” Sharon laughs. “Well, I will take _you_ up on that challenge on Wednesday.”

Stepping off the curb, Sharon waves her hand out to hail a cab. One passes. The next rolls to a stop.

“I had fun tonight,” she tells him.

“So did I. Thanks for… for coming out. I’ll see you again Wednesday?”

“Yeah.” Sharon grins and brushes her hand against Steve’s. “Wednesday.”

She moves for the cab just as Steve reaches for the door. Opens it for Sharon and when he straightens back up, Steve finds her sniffing the flowers he brought for her. When she looks up, Steve’s suddenly struck by how lovely she is. Here, in the glow of the streetlights, snow sprinkling down all around her. A few flakes have stuck to her eyebrows and glisten gently. 

Steve leans in slowly. Without even thinking about what he’s doing. Sharon meets him halfway and their lips brush together. Just a breath of a touch before the kiss deepens. Her lips are soft and shape gingerly against his and Steve realizes what’s happening. They’re really kissing. Steve is kissing Sharon Carter and it’s a wonderful feeling. 

There’s nothing stiff or awkward about the kiss at all. In fact, it feels natural. Organic even, and when it ends, it still feels right. Sharon smiles at the same time Steve’s lips pull up. She places a hand on Steve’s chest and pecks his cheek.

“Well, goodnight, Steve.”

“Night, Sharon.”

She spares one last smile before piling into the cab. Steve shuts the door for her and the car pulls away. He watches as it drives down the block and turns the corner, leaving Steve with a peaceful smile. The taste of her lips still sweetly on his own. 

***

“So this is it, Rogers.” Sharon smiles at him from behind her bottle of beer. “One last weekend of freedom and then it’s back to the grind, huh?”

The bar isn’t all that crowded. Unusual for a Friday night, but given it’s the Friday before classes start up again, it does make sense. Steve can’t believe how quickly this month has gone. One minute he was leaving the last class of the semester and the next he’s getting ready for the first of the next one. Half a year down, half to go.

Steve can remember what it was like in high school. Eagerly counting down the days till a holiday break only to have that break fly by no matter how hard he tried to hold onto it. Seems that being an adult in college hasn’t changed that. 

Between working for the art department, working on his pieces for the MoMA exhibit, spending free time with both friends and Sharon, Steve’s been swamped. A good sort of swamped. Feels as though maybe he’s really accomplishing something. Even the makings of a good, healthy social life. 

All in all, Steve’s enjoyed himself over these past few weeks, but it’ll be nice to get back into a bit of a routine again. 

“Y’know,” Steve says with a shrug. “I think I’m actually looking forward to classes again.”

This’ll be the last of their dates before school’s in session again. This early dinner that was decided upon last minute. Sharon’s going to be meeting some of her other friends afterward and Steve intends on staying here where Sam plans on catching up to him. 

“Yeah?” She chuckles. “Vacation too loosey goosey for you?”

“Maybe.” Steve grins. “Besides, now I can really buckle down and work on my exhibit pieces. Not have _someone_ drag me around all the time.”

“Whoa there, mister.” Sharon holds a finger out. Holds back a grin. “Whose idea was it to go bowling?”

Steve folds his lips in. Gives a very sheepish answer. “Mine.”

“And _who_ decided they just _had_ to show me the MET?”

“Me,” Steve admits again. Then shoots back, “But _you’re_ the one who wanted to go ice skating!”

“Okay, that one was me,” Sharon laughs. “But who was it that thought it’d be a good idea to sneak into another movie?”

Alright, that one was Steve too. It’s strange the way being with Sharon sometimes makes him feel. Almost like a kid again. Daring, adventurous. Not the big stiff who panics over a slight shift in routine. So maybe Sharon isn’t one to let her dates pay for her or cares about those sorts of gestures Steve loves doing. This is new and different and Steve is having fun. 

“Now come on,” Steve argues. “I was only getting what we paid for in the first place. That first movie was awful.”

“Terrible,” she agrees. “But it was still you who held us up longer instead of going home to work on your art. Which you still won’t let me see.”

Steve shakes his head with a smile. It’s not just Sharon. He’s always had a strange thing about his art. As if letting someone see it before it’s done takes away the magic he’s trying to put out into the world. If he can even call it that.

“You can see it at the opening.” 

Steve flushes. They haven’t discussed the MoMA opening itself. Sharon has expressed interest in coming to see the exhibit but this is a little more concrete. 

“Is that…” Sharon smiles. “Is that something you’d like, Steve? Would it be okay it I came to the opening?”

For just a split second, Steve can picture something a little different. Sharon on his arm that night. With her as his date. Both of them dressed nice and Sharon being there front and center to see his work. 

A part of Steve feels strange for letting the image change so suddenly. But it can’t be Bucky on his arm the way he’s been envisioning for weeks. Bucky in a tux. All shimmers and sparkles as he stays by Steve’s side for one of the most important nights of Steve’s life. 

But that’s impossible. A dream Steve’s laid to rest. That’s not what Bucky wants from him. Steve knows that. And has made peace with it. As best he can.

Once and only once did he really panic over the situation he’s found himself in. He’s seeing Sharon Carter semi-regularly and still paying Bucky Barnes for sex once a week. But then, he and Sharon aren’t sleeping together. They’ve shared kisses and have gone out on several dates during the month, but they’ve also decided to take things slow. See where things go.

Steve can… he can hold on to this part of Bucky for just a little while longer without hurting anyone. He can. He’s… almost sure of it.

“What if, uh.” Steve tugs at the collar of his shirt. “What if you came… _with_ me?”

“You mean, be your date?” 

Steve nods. Let's his finger trail along the edge of the table a bit before a hand slides over it. He looks up into Sharon’s shining eyes. A bright smile on her face.

“I’d love to be your date, Steve,” she tells him. “Thank you for wanting me there with you. I know how important this is.”

Smiling back, Steve turns his hand so that their fingers lace together. This time spent with Sharon has been better than he imagined. He might like her a little too much, given that she’s made it clear already she’s looking to take it slow. But then, since when is that new for Steve? He’s becoming a pro at impossible relationships. 

Still, it’s easy to be with Sharon. She’s fun to talk with, fun to be with. It’s comfortable both going out and staying in. Sharon’s spent an evening on Steve’s couch. Vegging out and having a Friends marathon. Popcorn ending up all over the floor. Steve’s been to her place for lunch and they’ve taken walks and shared late night texts and laughed till their sides were sore. Even taking things slow, this could be the start of something great.

“Thanks, Sharon,” Steve replies. “It means a lot that you’d want to be there at all.”

Sharon clicks her tongue. “Oh, stop it. People are gonna be lined up to be with you once you’re a famous artist. I’ll take you while you’re all humble.”

That makes Steve laugh. A happy sound even if there’s a bit of pain tinged in there with it. People lined up? Steve will settle for one. 

“Okay well.” Sharon wipes her mouth with a napkin and stands up. “If you’ll excuse me, I must use the ladies’ room and don’t you dare try any of your fancy little tricks, Rogers.”

No explanation needed. The one time Sharon had excused herself and Steve had snuck in to pay the whole bill, he was met with an onslaught of playful scolding and, much to his misfortune, Sharon’s discovery of his ticklish side. She didn’t let up until he apologized. 

Palms out in defeat, Steve assures her he won’t do it again.

“You made your point loud and clear last time!” He shudders and covers himself. “I’m not one for poking the devil more than once.”

Head tossed back in a laugh, she makes her way towards the restrooms only to scold him for checking her out. Which she’s absolutely correct in assuming. Even though she’s not looking, Steve’s entire face warms and he averts his eyes.

While she’s gone, Steve takes a moment to check his phone. It’s nice the way he can put the rest of the world on hold while with her. Steve finds a text from Sam telling him he’ll be there in about twenty minutes like they agreed. 

In the middle of answering Sam’s text, a pair of arms are suddenly sliding over his shoulders. Steve starts a bit and then finds himself relaxing immediately. It’s almost frightening how well he knows Bucky’s touch. 

“Hey, narc!” Bucky greets. Cute little laugh accompanying his greeting as he glides away from Steve and assumes Sharon’s seat. “What’re you doing here?”

“Uh…” Steve chuckles. A nervous bubble pops in Steve’s stomach, but he reminds himself that he’s not doing anything wrong. “I’m having dinner with a friend. More importantly what are _you_ doing here? How old are you again?”

Bucky scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“A bit late for a moral lecture, don’chya think, grandpa?” Bucky reaches across the table and picks at a piece of the ribs that are still left on Steve’s plate. “And anyway I told ya--” Bucky’s sinking his teeth into what’s left of the meat. “--some people like to take me out.”

Ice pools in the pit of Steve’s stomach. Which is hardly fair of him and he knows it. Here Steve is on a date and he has the nerve to be bothered by Bucky’s mere suggestion that he might be with a customer. Still, Steve can’t seem to hold back the question.

“Are you with someone?”

Reaching over the table once again, Bucky takes Steve’s drink -- the glass of water next to his pint of beer -- and sips from it. 

“Sure, Buck,” Steve chuckles. Gestures to what’s left of his food. “Help yourself.”

Freezing mid-drink, Bucky’s lips pull up into an impish smirk. He puts the glass back down and snickers.

“M’sorry,” Bucky says. “No, not anymore. Date’s over.”

That would make Steve feel better -- _shame on you, Rogers_ \-- but Bucky opens his mouth to say more and then snaps it closed. He scratches the back of his neck and then looks back at Steve like he’s trying to figure something out. Bucky looks nervous. Not as nervous as the night with the collar -- something neither of them have brought up again since then -- but still nervous. Something is on his mind. Not the sort of thing that makes him shy about asking or bringing up. This is something that has him on the verge of fear. 

“What’s the matter?” Steve asks. 

“Oh, um…” Bucky looks down at his lap like he’s surprised Steve’s noticed something is off. “It’s just… it’s super weird that you’re here right now. Or cool. Cause like, well, Nat’s been buggin’ me for weeks now and, I mean, this is, like, the perfect opportunity and shit, so it’s just cool that you’re here at the same time I am.”

“Bucky, what’re you talking about?”

His eyes blink a few times as if just realizing that he started to ramble without ever getting to the point. All Steve knows is that Natasha has been bugging him about something and him being there at the same time Bucky is happens to be cool.

“Uh, well, there’s something I kinda wanted to talk to you about.” He fiddles with his fingers a bit, eyes on the table like it’s a struggle to keep his focus on Steve. “So I’ve been thinking about some, uh, things, and I…” Bucky trails off when he notices the person approaching the table. “I was wondering if…” He and Steve both look up at Sharon when she reaches them. Big, welcoming smile on her face. “Um… maybe…” Bucky rattles his head and narrows his eyes at Sharon. “Can I help you?”

Sharon’s eyebrows go up. She, like Steve, must be taken a bit back by the sudden edge to Bucky’s voice.

“Bucky, this is who I’m having dinner with,” Steve explains. 

Nothing can prepare Steve for the way Bucky looks at him next. Every feature that had once been lit up for Steve dulls. His face falls, his shoulders fall, and Bucky looks between him and Sharon a few times before closing his eyes and drawing the conclusion that no one has come out and said.

“You two are on a date,” he mutters. Bucky says it matter-of-factly. Just a plain, straightforward and simple truth. 

“Well, yeah,” Steve answers. “Sort of.”

He gets a nod from Bucky at that, and Bucky gets up, sliding the chair back out. He says, “Then I’m in your seat. Sorry.”

“Oh it’s okay,” Sharon replies. “Someone should finish the food this baby didn’t eat.”

Bucky gives her a sneer and a sharp laugh. One that must throw her off a bit since she can’t seem to tell if he’s humoring her or not. Steve can feel his heart twist with heat at the sound. Knows damn well that Bucky’s being rude to her without coming out and _being_ rude. 

“Um, Bucky.” Steve figures maybe the best way to defuse this potentially hostile situation is by formal introductions. “Bucky, this is my friend, Sharon. Sharon, this is my lab partner, Bucky.”

The look Bucky flashes Steve makes his heart crumble. He looks so completely devastated that Steve’s sure he’s done something awful. Only he’s not sure what. Bucky’s made it perfectly clear that he wants nothing more than friendship from Steve. On more than one occasion. Steve can’t possibly imagine what he’s done to warrant such an expression of hurt and utter betrayal. 

“Oh!” Sharon exclaims. Fixes a smile on her face like she’s able to sense this strange, unpredictable discomfort. “Then did you help Steve survive the pig lab?”

“No,” Bucky grunts. “Not exactly. I’ll leave you two to your _date_. It was nice to meet you, Shannon.”

“ _Sharon_ ,” Steve corrects immediately. Oh no way is he going to play that game. “Her name is _Sharon_ , Bucky.”

Bucky shrugs, might mumble a very uninterested _whatever_ and sniffs like it makes no difference. Sharon, bless the woman, gives him a very tolerable smirk and a nod of her head. Still trying to give Bucky the benefit of the doubt -- though Steve can’t figure out why since Bucky hasn’t exactly been a bundle of manners -- she holds her hand out.

“Bucky, it was very lovely to meet you.”

Looking down at her hand like it might contain the plague, Bucky grinds his teeth before taking the peace offering. Though it’s more like he just wants to get it over with. His own hand remains like a dead fish and then he pulls it back like it pains him to touch her.

“Yeah so, sorry I interrupted,” Bucky grumbles. “I just didn’t think Steve went for the dumb-looking blondes.”

The venom in his voice is the only thing more shocking than what he’s said. Steve almost can’t believe his ears and does _not_ blame Sharon for the fire that lights in her eyes.

“ _Excuse_ me?” she demands at the very same time Steve shouts Bucky’s name. 

“Bucky,” Steve repeats. “What are you--”

“Hey, dude, whatever.” Bucky starts to back away with his palms out as though he’s declaring some sort of truce when all he’s doing is battling some war Steve didn’t know was waged. “To each their own, right? I’m sure you two can find _something_ riveting to talk about that she’ll understand.”

“Oh don’t worry,” Sharon responds. “Us grown ups can hold lots of riveting conversations that children just don’t get.”

Bucky’s face turns bright red. His mouth opens a few times but he ends up just swirling around and heading away. 

Horrified and embarrassed by his behavior, Steve turns to Sharon. Meets her shocked and slightly irritated expression.

“I’m so sorry, Sharon,” he apologizes. “I have no idea what just happened.”

“Wow,” she says. “Is he always so charming?”

“No!” Steve assures her. Wants to defend Bucky and also wants to demand an explanation from him. “He’s never… I mean…” He’s not even thinking about it, but Steve finds himself on his feet. “Just… would you…”

“Go on, go.” She flicks her fingers. “I’m sure he was just having a bad day or something.”

“Don’t…” Steve is already walking after Bucky, but needs to make sure. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

“I’ll be here,” she tells him. “Don’t worry.”

Steve nods and goes after Bucky. Making his way through the crowd that’s gotten thicker without Steve even realizing it. All the people work a bit to his advantage. Steve might have to fight to get through quickly, but it means Bucky’s been slowed down as well. Which is probably why he’s only reached the door when Steve catches up to him and takes him by the arm to spin him around. 

“What the _hell_ was that about, Bucky?” Steve growls. “You owe Sharon a _huge_ apology.”

“I ain’t apologizing for shit,” Bucky snaps. “Let go of my arm, Steve.”

If it was up to Steve, he’d be dragging Bucky back over there right now and demanding him to apologize for his behavior. But that wouldn’t solve anything and just make him look like a violent asshole. Steve releases his grip.

“Why would you do that, Bucky?” he asks. Steve makes the attempt to keep his voice calm, but it doesn’t work. “Sharon was nothing but polite to you.”

“Yeah, well, what difference does it make what I say anyways?” Bucky scoffs. When he goes to storm away again, Steve drops a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “Just leave me alone, Steve!”

His shout is filled with the same poison that laced his voice before. In this moment, Steve is fairly sure Bucky hates him. The problem is Steve can’t figure out why. He has no idea what he’s done to make Bucky so angry. Seeing him with Sharon couldn’t have set him off that way, could it? He’s the one who rejected Steve. He’s the one who told Steve to find someone. He’s the one who set the boundaries here. He can’t just go getting angry at Steve for doing exactly what he wanted.

Steve doesn’t even notice he’s made his way back over to Sharon until he feels her take his hand.

“No luck?” she asks.

That much must be obvious. Steve can feel the heat coming off his body. His jaw is just as tense as the rest of his muscles. Anger curls around his bones. This isn’t fair. Steve shouldn’t have to suffer Bucky’s completely unreasonable outburst when he’s done nothing but treat him with love and respect. Yet here he is. Seething because Bucky’s gone and lashed out for no good reason. None that Steve can think of.

“I’m really so sorry, Sharon,” he says again. “I have no idea what that was all about. He’s _never_ acted like that before. He’s really a good kid. I… what?”

Sharon is looking at him with this all knowing smirk. Like she has insider information on what’s just happened.

“I think someone has a crush on you,” she remarks. 

“What?” Steve can hear the high pitch to his voice. “No. No, that’s… no.”

No that’s not it. Steve knows it’s not. Bucky doesn’t feel that way towards him. At least not enough to react with such hostility towards Sharon. He likes Steve, sure. Even cares about him. But he’s made it perfectly clear that that’s where his affection ends. They’re friends. No more, no less. 

“I dunno, Steve.” Sharon gives him a doubtful look. Eyebrows cocked and the corner of her mouth quirked up. “That sounded a lot like jealousy. And jealousy can bring out some really ugly stuff.”

Jealous? Could that possibly be what set Bucky off? Was he jealous? It just doesn’t seem plausible. Still, what Sharon says makes sense. It’s just… well that’s not fair. Just like it’s unfair of Steve to feel so possessive over Bucky when he talks about his customers. But at least Steve acknowledges this. Doesn’t act out on such irrational feelings. 

“I dunno,” Steve mumbles. “I’m just really sorry you had to see him like that. He really is a great guy.”

Sharon’s quiet for a moment as though she’s mulling over everything that’s just happened. Examining the situation from all angles. It makes sense. She wants to join the FBI. Her analytical brain is just made for this.

“You like him,” she concludes. “Enough that you don’t want me thinking poorly of him.”

He’s about to deny that, but really where would that get him? Just someone playing on the defensive and making it even more obvious.

“Well he’s… he’s my friend,” Steve says. “At least I thought he was.”

“He is,” Sharon assures him. Adds a comforting squeeze of their hands. “I think he was caught off guard. Went with his knee-jerk reaction. No real harm done, Steve. If you say he’s a good guy, I believe it.”

Steve smiles and thanks her, but he just can’t get it off his mind. Not when Sharon leaves and they kiss goodbye. Not when Sam gets there -- with Tony, ‘cause apparently _can’t let you kick off another semester without corrupting you a bit!_ \-- and they all hug hello. Not when they sit down with their drinks and Sam kicks him in the ankle. 

“What’s going on?” Sam asks. “You’re all distracted. You nervous about school starting again?”

“What?” Steve rattles his head. “Oh. No, not really. Actually--” Steve forces a smile “--I’m looking forward to classes again.”

The thought is now leaving a sinking feeling in his stomach. Monday he’s supposed to see Bucky for their Bio 102 class. Will they work this out between now and then? Will Bucky just pretend that nothing happened? Should Steve let him?

“Yeah, you were always a dork,” Sam teases. Sips his drink and laughs when Steve rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on! Don’t tell me you weren’t the one always excited when school started again.”

“No!” Steve denies. “I was excited to see my friends again. That’s it.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Tony scoffs. “Had nothing to do with the learning, brainiac.”

Steve snorts. Leave it to Tony to label him such a thing. The guy who pitched a fit when Bruce _just_ squeaked by him for valedictorian. 

“Alright, alright,” Steve laughs. “ _Maybe_ I enjoyed the academia a bit. But just a little.”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam chuckles. “But really, Steve, you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Steve lies. “Why?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs. “You look a little off.”

Figuring it’s best to give them a little something, since both Sam and Tony are now watching him with careful eyes, Steve nods.

“I… I kinda got into a fight with a friend from school. I think.”

“You think?” Tony asks. “What does that mean?”

“I just mean… I’m not really sure what happened. He, uh, he came over to talk to me and then Sharon came back from the bathroom and, uh, well, all hell sorta broke lose.”

The both of them exchange a glance and then look back at Steve. Sam seems a bit suspicious. Tony looks intrigued. 

“What does that mean?” Sam questions. “All hell? What happened?”

“Just… he got… mad, I think. Was really nasty to Sharon and just really rude. I’ve never seen him act like that.”

Tony shrugs. “Can’t be that big’a deal, huh? How well do you know this guy?”

Only enough to be head over heals for him, but that’s not something up for discussion at the moment. Steve tries to imagine what his friends would think if they knew about Bucky. All of it. 

Sam, Steve guesses, would be concerned with Steve’s well-being first. He might not understand, but he’d support Steve.

Maria would most likely be a cop through and through. She wouldn’t agree with it. She wouldn’t like it. Steve doubts she’d cause any problems for Bucky, but she’d make her objections known.

Pepper, well, Pepper would worry about Bucky first and foremost. She’d care about whether or not he was safe and, like Steve, his safety would be what mattered most. 

Then there’s Tony. Steve almost laughs thinking about it. Tony wouldn’t care at all. He’d probably make a joke -- a good chance it’d be inappropriate -- and that would be it. He’d be perfectly fine with the whole arrangement. 

“I’ve spent time with him,” Steve answers as vague as possible. “I think I’ve gotten to know him pretty well. I thought I had.”

“Well…” Sam smiles. “Maybe he was jealous?”

It’s a joke. Steve can tell by the way he laughs at the end of the statement, but that doesn’t stop Steve’s veins from icing over. Sam’s came up with the same thought as Sharon. Sure, he’s kidding, but it doesn’t help Steve’s thoughts settle. 

But he doesn’t want to talk about this anymore. It’s just giving him a headache. So he changes the subject. Moves the discussion onto Tony, who’s always game for talking about himself. 

The evening moves along in a pretty normal fashion after that. Easy conversation between a bunch of friends. Drinks. Darts. A quick game of pool that Steve wins. Tony drags them both out onto the dance floor where Steve’s not near drunk enough -- or even drunk at all -- to make enough of a fool of himself to stay there very long. 

He enjoys a song or two, dancing -- or tripping over his feet -- with two different girls and then making his way back over to their little table. Empty glasses litter the top of it and Sam joins him in just a few minutes, followed by Tony just a little while after that. 

After their impromptu trip to the dance floor, Steve finds himself thinking less and less of Bucky and his outburst. Maybe Sharon was right with her first guess. He was just having a bad day. He’s allowed that. Not that it gives him the right to take it out on Steve -- or Sharon, for that matter. But it would still explain his actions. 

“Alright, you crazy cats,” Tony says as he pushes away from the table. “It has been a hoot. But I’m gonna turn in.”

“Yeah, I think I’m with you on that, Tony,” Sam concurs. “Steve?”

Steve grabs a glance at his phone. Sees not only is it just a quarter past twelve, but that he has a text from Sharon wishing him a good time tonight. Nothing else.

“Really?” Steve chuckles. “You old men gonna ditch me here?”

“Hey, now!” Sam warns. “Not all of us come with unlimited energy.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say _unlimited_.” Steve pats his back. “But looks like I’m the one who’s gotta keep you two young.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Tony grumbles. “You coming?”

“Uh, in a minute,” Steve replies. “Gonna use the bathroom. You guys go on ahead. I’ll settle up.”

“You sure, man?” Sam checks as both he and Tony take out some money to hand to Steve for their share of the drinks. “You don’t want us to wait?”

Steve waves a hand out at them.

“No, go on,” he tells them. “It’s okay. I think I might actually take a walk.”

“Really?” Tony asks. “It’s the end of January.”

“Sure,” Steve laughs. “I could use some fresh air.”

It might be nice. A chance to clear his head and think about what happened today. Even reflect on this past month. Maybe come up with a way to handle the entire situation. After checking to make sure Steve’s okay with them heading out, Sam and Tony leave, and Steve makes his way to the bathroom. 

Splashing some cold water on his face, Steve, for some reason, checks his phone again. He’s not sure what he expects, but he can’t stop hoping that Bucky’s texted him. An apology. An explanation. Something. Of course, there’s nothing and Steve just sticks his phone back into his pocket before going to the bar to pay the bill. 

The bartender’s just handed Steve back his credit card, and Steve’s in the middle of signing the receipt, when there’s a high pitched yell from next to him. 

“ _Steve_!” 

Startled, Steve jerks away from the bar to face the source. His stomach clenches at what he sees. There’s Bucky, and one good look at him tells Steve all he needs to know. Cheeks blotchy, eyes half closed, sloppy grin on his face, body swaying. The kid’s drunk. Maybe not fall down drunk, but drunk enough that he flings his arms around Steve’s neck and stays there. 

“Bucky, what--”

“You’re still _here_!” he exclaims as though this is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. “Like _I’m_ still… still… _I’m_ here, too!”

He reeks of booze and cigarettes. The smell of smoke sticks to his hair. The smell of alcohol lingers on his breath. There’s something wet on his shirt. Like maybe he spilled a drink all over him and it’s still drying. 

“Christ, Bucky,” Steve says. “How much have you had to drink?”

“To drink? I don’t drink, Stevie, ‘member? You’re… you ‘member, Steve?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I remember.” Steve unwinds the arms around him and puts a hand on Bucky’s shoulder to hold him steady. “Bucky, come on, tell me how much you’ve--”

“Like two or like…” He hiccups. “Like _two_ beers or something. Two. Two-o-o.” Bucky holds up three fingers. Looks at them and then spits out a giggle. “But that’s three. Not two.”

Bucky takes hold of that hand on his shoulder and goes to suck on Steve’s fingers. He even gets the tip of Steve’s index finger into his mouth before Steve yanks his hand away.

“Aw, what’s a’matter, Steve? Don’t you…” Bucky’s eyes close. When they reopen, he seems to have forgotten all about trying to suck on Steve’s fingers and looks back at the bar. “This is where we met!”

“Hey,” the bartender calls, leaning over the bar so Steve can hear. He looks between the two of them. “You know this kid?”

“Yeah,” Steve answers. “It’s okay. We go to school together. He’s my lab partner.”

The second Steve says it, Bucky’s face crumples. He squeezes his eyes closed and sucks in a deep breath, letting it out with an over-exaggerated sigh.

“ _Yep_.” Bucky nods and sways a bit more. “That’s me. That’s who _I am_. I’m his _lab_ partner.” He starts to laugh and rocks back on his heels. “Yep. Lab partner. La-a-ab _part_ ner.”

As he goes on to say the term over and over, it suddenly dawns upon Steve what’s upsetting him.

Lab partner. That’s what he’s called Bucky. He introduced Sharon as his friend and Bucky as his lab partner. Without thinking about it, Steve designated Bucky not as his friend but something different. Lesser. Bucky noticed. And he’s hurt.

“Oh shit, no, Bucky.” He takes hold of both shoulders to still him. Bucky smacks his lips together and makes a popping noise with his mouth. “Baby, I didn’t mean it like that.” He didn’t. Not at all. “I…”

“No, no,” Bucky slurs. Grinding his teeth and giggling like it tickles. “See that. I knew it. I always, always knew it. _Knew_ it. Too good to be true. Tr-r-rue.” He pokes Steve’s chest with his finger. “Too good.”

“Hey, look at me.” Steve cups both hands around Bucky’s face. “Bucky, sweetheart, I didn’t mean it like that. I swear I didn’t.”

Tears swell in Bucky’s eyes as he presses his own hands against Steve’s. He shakes his head and swallows hard.

“I’m sorry, Steve.” He groans and licks at his lips. “I’m so sorry. I was so stupid. I didn’t mean it, Steve. I’m sorry.”

“Mean it? Mean what, Bucky?”

“It was my fuckin’ mouth, Steve. Just runnin’ away. I didn’t mean what I said. I’m so stupid. I didn’t… I’m sorry. Is she still here? I’ll say sorry. I’m sorry. So sorry.”

Though he’s not crying, his voice is still thick with tears as he jumps from one thought to the next. 

“Okay, okay,” Steve murmurs. “We can talk about that later. Right now I think I should get you home.”

“No! You were _here_ , Steve!” Bucky grunts through clenched teeth. Sounds and looks frustrated. “ _Here_ and I wanted to… to… but I couldn’t… and then I…”

“Come on, Bucky.” Steve puts an arm around his waist and starts to guide him to the door. Bucky is still rambling about something, but he’s making less and less sense. “It’s okay, Buck. Just come with me.”

Bucky’s pressed up against his side. Arms swinging back and forth as he walks with him.

“Okay, Steve,” he says softly. Sniffles and leans his head against him. “Steve? Are you… you’re mad at me?”

“No, Bucky.” Now’s not the time to bring up what happened. Kid probably won’t even remember it anyway. “I’m not mad at you.”

They’ve just gotten through the doors. There’s a lot of people outside now. People surrounded by clouds of smoke milling up and down the streets of Brooklyn as they head this way and that on a typical Friday night. 

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Bucky whispers again. “M’sorry.”

“I know, baby. Just relax. I’ll get you home and you can sleep it off.”

He’ll have to get Bucky’s license to figure out where he lives. One problem at a time. First he needs to get a ride.

Steve has his arm out and a cab pulls over. While keeping Bucky steady against him, he opens the door. He’s about to help Bucky into the back of the car when two hands snag him by the shoulders and yank him away from Bucky. 

So startled by the sudden separation, Bucky almost tumbles to the ground. There’s someone at his side before it can happen and whoever dragged Steve away shoves him back.

“Get _the fuck_ away from him,” the person who grabbed Steve growls. 

“Stop it!” Bucky yells. Hands wiping at his face even though there still aren’t any tears. “Please, stop!”

A bit dazed by what’s just happened, it takes Steve a few seconds to put everything together. The young man to the side of him, the young woman with Bucky -- he recognizes them. Steve throws him palms out.

“I’m not gonna hurt him,” Steve swears. “He came over to me. I’m just--”

“Yeah?” She turns her glare on Steve. “Then just _go away_ and we won’t call the cops.”

“No, no!” Bucky whines. “Steve…”

“Steve?” She looks back at Bucky and then at Steve again. “Steve Rogers?”

Steve nods. “Hello, Natasha.”

“Oh.” Next to him, Clint takes a step closer. “Sorry, dude. We just saw…”

“No, no, that’s fine,” Steve assures them. If this was any other time he might laugh. Thinking Bucky was in trouble, his friends were ready to do anything to keep him safe. “I was just trying to get him home.”

“Thanks,” Clint replies and glances over at Bucky and Natasha. “But we got it from here.”

“Mm-mm.” Bucky, held close by Natasha, shakes his head. Wobbles a bit, but reaches out for Steve. “Steve…”

Natasha slowly lets go of him and Bucky stumbles the few steps back over to Steve. Once he’s there again, Bucky leans up against him enough that it’s just more comfortable for Steve to put his arms around him. He’s not so sure how well received that is by his two friends, but neither of them comment. 

“You come too, Steve? Okay?”

“Bucky,” Clint remarks. “No.”

“You know the rule, James,” Natasha continues. “No customers at home.”

“No but… but…” Keeping himself in Steve’s embrace, Bucky turns to face them. “But it’s… it’s Steve. Steve’s not… he’s… not just…” Bucky whines a bit as the frustration passes through. “He’s not just… Steve’s my friend. You said so Steve,” He turns back to talk to Steve. “Right? You did. Please?”

Clicking her tongue, Natasha sighs and says something to him in Russian. He responds in the same language, albeit very slurred and stuttered. They exchange a few more words and then Natasha looks at Clint. She waves him closer to whisper something in his ear. Whatever she’s told Clint makes his eyes grow a bit. Clint first glances at Bucky and then back at Natasha. 

“Oh, man.” Clint rattles his head. “Bucky, this isn’t a good idea. And you’re drunk.”

Bucky makes a whining noise in the back of his throat. He shoves his fingers into his eyes to rub them.

“I don’t wanna be drunk no more,” he whimpers. “I promised. I’m sorry, Clint. Oh, shit, I don’t wanna be drunk.”

“I know, buddy,” Clint says. “You just come home with Tasha and me and…”

“And Steve,” Bucky insists again. Tightens the grip he has on Steve. “Can Steve come, too?”

Clint sighs and looks to Natasha again, giving her something of a shrug. Though he’s been silent this whole time, Steve doesn’t want to cause any more friction between them all. 

“Buck, maybe you should just go with your friends,” Steve suggests. “We’ll talk later.”

Once again, Bucky peers up at him as though feeling like Steve’s betrayed him. He shakes his head. A weak and tiny whimper reaching his throat.

“But I… I’m sorry I’m drunk, Steve. I won’t drink no more. I…” Bucky moans and touches his forehead to Steve’s chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. And I’m sorry to Sharon. Is she here? Sharon?”

“No, baby, she’s not. But you--”

Bucky interrupts him again. His lip quivering and mouth taking a few tries to make sense of what he’s trying to say.

“You call… you can call her?” He whines again and rattles his head. “I can say sorry. I promise I will.”

“Bucky--”

“Alright, fine,” Natasha says. “If it’ll get him home faster and you don’t mind, you can come.”

That has hope breaking through the haze that’s masked over Bucky. He gazes up at Steve, the pleading clear in his wide eyes. 

“Okay,” Steve whispers. “Come on.”

It only takes a little over fifteen minutes to get to their building and it occurs to Steve then just how close he and Bucky actually live. All this time they’ve really only been about few stops away from each other. Bucky’s mood has swung back and forth the entire time. Going from silly and giggly to weepy and remorseful. 

He goes up the front steps easily and tries to get his own keys out to open the doors. Natasha lowers his hands to do it herself. Once inside, getting Bucky up to the third floor takes a little more effort. Not because he can’t do it himself, but because he keeps trying to joke around. 

Bucky leans back against Steve, pretending to faint and laughing like crazy when he moves forward again. He tries to take two steps at a time and ends up missing one. Clint has to catch him before spills down the entire flight. Bucky, however, finds it hilarious.

“James,” Natasha scolds. “Cut it out.”

Her voice -- the tone, the words, the precision -- it snaps Bucky right out of it. He mumbles a quiet apology and goes up to the third floor silently. When they reach their place, Clint unlocks the door this time since Bucky’s leaning against Steve and holding Natasha’s hand. 

“Come on, bud,” he says as he waves Bucky inside.

As if thinking he’s about to be tricked, Bucky clings onto Steve’s shirt and tries to drag him in with him. Steve goes willingly. Feels the shift in Bucky’s mood again.

“Clint?” Bucky whimpers. “M’sorry I’m drunk. I didn’t… I don’t wanna be anymore.”

“I know, Buck. C’mere.” Clint holds an arm out and Bucky peels away from Steve to go to him. He gets that arm wrapped around his waist and Clint leads him down the one hall. “Let’s go get you washed up.”

They disappear together, leaving Steve in the tight living room with Natasha. It’s a small place. Tiny kitchen -- or maybe it’s just a kitchenette -- attached to the living room. There’s a mid sized fridge and stove on either side of the small sink. Plain oak cabinets line the wall above it. A small, square shaped table sits between the change of floor texture -- faux marble to laminate. Two chairs are pushed in under it and a folding chair rests between it and the wall it’s up against. 

When Natasha sits on the couch a few feet away, Steve takes a few steps backwards. Towards the door. 

“Uh, well, I guess I should…” He points over his shoulder with his thumb. “I’ll just…”

“No, stay,” she says. Steve’s not so sure it’s a request rather than a demand. “He’ll be upset if you’re gone.”

“I’m not so sure he’ll even notice.”

From down the hall, the sound of running water starts up. Sounds like a shower starting. Maybe Clint is helping Bucky shower.

“No, he will,” Natasha comments. “My Bucky’ll notice. Trust me.”

So Steve slides out one of the two chairs at the little table and sits down at the very edge of it. Though the room isn’t big, it feels a lot smaller than it actually is with Natasha watching him. Steve’s taller and bigger and -- he thinks -- stronger, but he still feels about an inch high when under her gaze. Like she might pounce and destroy him at any moment. After several minutes of lingering silence, Steve can’t take it anymore.

“So what happened?” Steve asks. “Why did he… I mean what made him…?”

Natasha shrugs. “I was hoping you could tell me that.”

“Me?”

“Mhm.” She crosses her arms and throws one leg over the other. “Last I heard, he got into a fight with you. When he called drunk like that, Clint and I went looking for him. Found him with you.”

“We didn’t… I mean, nothing _happened_ ,” Steve says. Talking about being with Bucky drunk. “Just so you know. I would never…” He doesn’t finish with that, but he thinks Natasha gets the idea. “And it wasn’t… a fight.”

Steve’s not really sure what to call it. What happened wasn’t really a fight, but it wasn’t good. Though he’d really rather not give Natasha any more of a reason to dislike him, Steve tells her what happened. He tries to remain unbiased, but he’s unable to find a way to make up for the way Bucky acted or what he said. In fact, when he repeats what Bucky said to Sharon, Natasha’s mouth drops open.

“He said that?” Steve nods and she grumbles, “He’s lucky she didn’t slap him. I would’ve.”

She doesn’t comment any further on the matter. Gives Steve no insight on why Bucky acted the way he did. 

They fall into another round of silence after Steve tells her about Bucky storming out on him. While they sit there, the water in the bathroom turns off. A few minutes after that, Steve can hear one door open, followed by another. There’s a hushed conversation going on, too muffled for Steve to understand anything more than Clint comforting Bucky every now and then. 

It’s still quiet in the living room when Clint comes waltzing back in. He gives a lazy salute to Natasha and a nod to Steve. Without a word, he goes straight to the little kitchen counter where he brews up a single cup of coffee. From the little fridge, he grabs, what Steve thinks, is a few slices of cold pizza and then leaves again. 

“Does he… normally do this?” Steve asks. “I mean, Bucky said he doesn’t drink on nights he… works. Is this…”

“Is that what he told you?”

“Yeah?” Steve’s eyebrows pull in. “Is that… not true?”

“Oh no, it’s true,” she says. Then shrugs one shoulder. “Mostly.”

Again, that’s all she says. Steve can’t even begin to imagine what that could possibly mean. _Mostly_. Has Bucky been lying this whole time?

“What do you mean? Mostly?”

“I mean that it’s mostly true. But Bucky doesn’t just not drink on nights he _works_. Bucky doesn’t _drink_ outside an occasional glass of wine when celebrating something, or maybe some champagne on New Years. Other than that, he doesn’t touch alcohol.” Natasha pauses there and by the twist of her lips, Steve wonders if she’s contemplating sharing more than that. “It scares him. He has a… complicated past…”

“I know,” Steve whispers. Not quite able to wrap his mind around what he’s just been told. Bucky doesn’t drink yet he downed enough tonight to get him here. “He’s told me.”

“He… Bucky told you?”

“About his dad and the drinking and stuff?” Her eyes are wide and though Steve doesn’t expect her to answer that, she nods anyway. “Yeah. He told me.”

She blinks twice before letting her gaze drift away. Steve’s not sure what she’s focused on. Then again, she might be looking at things Steve can’t see. Something beyond the walls of this room. A place Steve doesn’t know.

“Wow,” she murmurs. “This is worse than I thought.”

“What?” Steve asks. “What is?”

Giving him that look again, Steve feels his stomach clenching. If Natasha doesn’t find him worthy, he might never hear what’s on her mind. Never find out what’s _worse than she thought_. But after another moment, she sighs and shakes her head.

“He likes you,” she says. Pragmatic and to the point. The same way Steve would describe how he likes the kids from the study group. “And he must trust you, if he told you that.”

“I don’t understand,” Steve admits. “Is that… bad?”

“Not… bad.” Natasha shakes her head. “But he’s a bit… _attached_. And I’ve only seen him like this with _one_ other person.”

A knot, painful and tight, pulls in Steve’s stomach. There’s no need for her to tell him who. Steve already knows. Brock. This all reminds Natasha -- and possibly Bucky -- of what happened with Brock.

“But I’m not… I’m not him,” Steve says. “I’m not Brock.” 

Leaning back, Natasha once again looks over him. Her expression relaxes this time. Turns almost sad. 

“No. You’re not,” she agrees. “But that son of a bitch _took_ something from Bucky. And I don’t think he knows how to get it back. That scares him. And so do you.”

“He’s… scared of me?” Steve ponders that for a moment. “But I’ve tried to be…”

So good to him. _He was so good to me, Steve_. 

That’s what Brock took from him. He took Bucky’s trust and faith. Twisted and warped them both until they were something dark and wrong. And now Bucky’s too afraid to use them again. Even if there might be some part of him that _wants_ to. 

Steve remembers what it was like being in class with Bucky in the beginning of the semester. How Bucky barely interacted with him unless he had to and how it was simple and polite at best. No more than that. Steve recalls how he was more open to conversing after Steve had him over the first time. Then how that slowly started to change. The air loosening. The joking, the flirting, the playing, the closeness. How hard it had been to get Bucky to take after care then, and how affectionate he is now. 

Steve thought no one would get hurt. He was wrong.

Bucky’s convinced himself he can’t be with anyone. That no one will truly want him and no matter how well he’s treated, it’s going to be taken away again. Earlier, he called Steve too good to be true. It may have been a moment of drunken rambling, but there’s a part of him that believes it. Fears it, even. Because Bucky doesn’t want this to change. He can’t bring himself to surrender any more of himself, so he won’t really let Steve in. But he doesn’t want this to change -- and Steve is going to change everything. 

Steve is going to have to put a stop to this. Pull the plug on sex. On the weekly visits. On the private world that belongs only to them. Steve is going to change them. After he’s coaxed Bucky into accepting and now wanting all those little things -- the touches, the hugs, the cuddles, the closeness -- Steve is going to take it all away from him. Which means...

“I’m going to hurt him.” The words twist around his tongue. “Aren’t I?”

Natasha shrugs again. Flicks her hair over her shoulder and purses her lips as she once again assesses Steve.

“Not on purpose,” she concludes. “Just… be gentle with him, Steve Rogers.”

“Tasha!” Clint calls from wherever he is with Bucky. “Can you grab a glass of water?”

She doesn’t answer Clint, but gets up and goes over to the kitchen where she pulls out a glass from the cabinet and fills it with tap water. Natasha doesn’t even glance at Steve as she takes it to them.

Left alone with only thoughts for company -- and at the moment, they’re not very good company -- Steve feels the air in his lungs getting hotter. Though he already knows it’s there, Steve pats his pocket. Feels his inhaler offering whatever comfort it can give without being used. 

A weight fixes itself to Steve’s heart. Heavy and painful. Makes it hard to even think. Not that it matters. All Steve can think about is the horrible truth that Natasha’s made him see. No matter what he does now, he’s going to hurt Bucky. It might not be entirely his fault and it’s most definitely not on purpose, but that is what’s going to happen. The outcome. Sooner or later, when the countdown finishes, it leaves Bucky hurt. 

Bucky’s not going to try to end anything about their relationship, and that includes Steve being his customer. He’s leaving that up to Steve. It’s not about the money anymore. At least, not _only_ about the money. The ball is in Steve’s court -- maybe it always has been. It’s up to Steve to end this. Everything will change when that happens. Friends or not, everything will change. _Everything_.

“Steve?”

Steve straightens up. He didn’t even realize that he was leaning forward -- elbows on his knees, head in his hands -- until he’s called. He looks over at Clint, standing just outside the living room. 

“Yeah?” he whispers.

Clint nods back down the hallway. “He’s asking for you.”

Nodding, Steve rises to his feet and follows Clint down the short hall to the last room on the left. It’s not a bad sized room, with space enough for a futon folded out to a bed that’s pushed up against the far wall, an old looking writing desk, and a rather large dresser. A laptop sits on the desk and there are pictures taped to the side of it. On top of the dresser is a television and a folded pile of clothes. Next to the bed is a tall, plastic drawer tower being used as a nightstand. There’s a plate with crumbs and nibbled on pizza crusts and the mug that Clint brought in earlier. That glass of water Natasha had been called for is next to the mug with a bottle of aspirin right by it. 

Bucky’s sitting on the bed. Hair damp and dressed in new clothes, he’s got one blanket wrapped around his shoulders -- crocheted with red stars weaved into the silver yarn -- while the comforter is tucked up to his waist. Natasha is sitting behind him, running her hand across his back. 

“Look who’s here, Bucky,” Natasha murmurs. “Your knight in shining armor.”

Face turning bright red, Bucky ducks his chin down. He looks embarrassed. Steve’s not sure by what. Maybe by what Natasha’s called Steve. Or maybe because Natasha is still rubbing his back for him. 

“He likes it,” she states. “Says it calms him down.”

“Nat,” Bucky whines. “Really?”

“It’s the truth,” she points out with a flick to his ear. “Besides, he should know since you’re gonna ask for some privacy but you still want someone to do it.”

Another blush fills Bucky’s face. Steve takes it to mean that last part must be true. He didn’t know that about Bucky, but it makes sense. As reluctant as he’s been about sharing these things Bucky does enjoy a bit of pampering. 

Natasha slides out from behind Bucky and comes towards Steve. When she’s about to cross by him, she pauses. Her lips are twisted as she once again seems to be mulling over things in her mind. In the end, she pats Steve’s shoulder and goes to the door.

“I’m leaving this open,” she says as she departs.

“Yes, mom,” Bucky grumbles. He peers up at Steve and tries to give him a smile. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Steve nods. “How’re you feeling?”

He’s a little more sober, Steve can tell that much. His eyes are more focused and he’s not swaying anymore. The flush to his skin has faded. 

“Okay.” Bucky shrugs. “I didn’t mean… Steve, I’m s-sorry. I didn’t mean to get… to get drunk.”

“You didn’t?”

“Not like… I didn’t…” Bucky drops his head in his hands and lets out a disgruntled groan. Though he’s more coherent now, he’s still having trouble expressing himself. “M’sorry, Steve. I was stupid. I shouldn’t… I didn’t mean what I said. To your girlfriend.”

Girlfriend. Steve’s heart flutters at the title Bucky’s given to Sharon. Though that’s not quite accurate, it’s not completely _wrong_ either. They might have decided this isn’t a full commitment, but they are together. Steve’s too old to argue over the semantics of a word. Especially now.

“You can apologize when you’re sober,” Steve says. Mostly just to give Bucky some peace of mind. He gestures to the spot Natasha’s vacated. Bucky’s watching his hands as he does it. “Do you… want me to…?”

Bucky shrugs and fiddles with his fingers. Picks at the ends of the blanket around his shoulders. 

“If you want.”

Playing a bit with his hands, Steve wonders whether or not this is a good idea. His heart sinks. This might… this might be the last time…

Steve takes Natasha’s place behind Bucky. He first runs his fingers through Bucky’s hair and watches Bucky’s shoulders relax. His hand moves down to Bucky’s neck where the tips of his fingers caress soft skin. Bucky’s head leans back slightly as Steve’s touch lowers to his back. Every time he brings his hand back up to Bucky’s neck, Bucky tilts his head again. 

It’s quiet for a while. Only the sounds of a television on somewhere else in the apartment slithers in through the room. There’s something else in there with them though. A shift between them. Steve can feel it. He’s sure Bucky does too. 

Steve’s lost all sense of time when Bucky whispers, “Will you stay with me?”

Hand pausing where it is, right at the base of Bucky’s neck, Steve’s heart skips a bit.

“What?”

He doesn’t get an answer to that. Not right away. Bucky remains silent. Steve remains still.

“Tonight, I mean,” Bucky says at least a full minute later. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

“You’re drunk, Bucky.”

Not that he wants to say no. Steve doesn’t. He wants to stay, he really does. But what he says is true. Bucky’s drunk. More sober now, but still drunk. Not thinking straight.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “But I know I want you to stay.”

“This is a mistake.”

“I know,” Bucky agrees. “Will you stay anyway? You can yell at me in the morning.”

“I’m not gonna yell at you.”

Steve resumes rubbing Bucky’s back, but comes to a stop when Bucky goes to peer over his shoulder. He doesn’t quite complete the motion, doesn’t actually turn his head enough to look at Steve.

“But you’ll stay?”

Slowly sliding his hand back up to Bucky’s shoulder, Steve wraps an arm around him and guides him back against his chest. This is a mistake. He knows it. Bucky knows it. But they’re making it. Together.

“Yeah,” Steve says softly. “I’ll stay.”

Bucky shifts a bit so that he’s a little more on his side. He waits for Steve to get comfortable before taking the blanket from around his shoulders and wrapping it around both of them. 

Neither of them speak or do anything to disturb where they’ve ended up. Steve doesn’t even reach for the remote to at least put some more white noise in the room. Bucky feels so right against him. So warm and welcoming. Like this is the place they’re both made for, and Steve can’t help the way his heart twists. This isn’t fair. And all Steve wants to do is cry. Tears for the loss of something he never even had in the first place.

They just stay like that. For a long time. Steve even thinks Bucky’s fallen asleep until he feels him trembling. Not his whole body. Just a few quivers that run through him hard enough that he can feel it. Bucky’s crying.

“Bucky?”

“Why?” Bucky whimpers. “Why did you have to be so wonderful?”

He buries his face in Steve’s chest and doesn’t say another word. He’s trying to keep Steve from knowing that he’s still crying, but the tears keep on coming and all Steve can do is hold him close and smother his own tears against Bucky’s hair.

There’s a part of Steve that wants to beg Bucky just to give him a chance. Let him in. _Please_ let him in. He’ll show him. Prove to him over and over that he’s not like the others. He’s nothing like Brock. He won’t hurt him. But Steve already knows he can’t make that promise. The damage has already been done. 

 

When Steve opens his eyes it takes a few moments to process what’s going on. Why he’s not in his bed and why the surroundings seem so unfamiliar. He must have fallen asleep. In Bucky’s bed. With Bucky pressed up against him, and he’s woken up alone.

Now there’s sun creeping in under the shade of the window. Steve glances around the room but finds nothing to give him the time. Rubbing his fingers into his eyes, Steve stretches a bit. All the aches and pains of sleeping on a futon mattress already catching up to him. He digs into his pocket for his phone. It’s a little after nine. 

The door is closed halfway. Not like the last time he saw it when Natasha left it wide open. Still a bit groggy, Steve sits up. It’s quiet in the apartment, but he can hear the soft noises of someone moving about. 

Unsure of what to do, Steve just sits there for a few minutes. Waiting. Someone laughs. It sounds like Natasha. Steve’s not waiting there all that long before the door pushes open and Bucky slips back in, closing it gently and without a sound. He’s wearing a smile -- soft and private -- until he sees Steve sitting up. Looks like he didn’t expect to come back in and find him awake. There’re some bags under Bucky’s eyes and his hair is all over the place. His lips are a little pale like maybe he’s not feeling the greatest. Wouldn’t be all that shocking.

“Uh…” Awkwardness, the first real bit of it, appears between them. “Mornin’.”

“Good morning,” Steve answers.

Then nothing. Bucky’s sober now -- probably left with a hangover -- and Steve has no idea how much of last night he remembers. Obviously he knows that Steve stayed the night, but does he remember asking him? Crying with him?

“So, um…” Bucky chews on the inside of his cheek and then gestures around the room. “This is my room.”

“Yeah,” Steve chuckles awkwardly. “I see that.”

“Yeah.” He glances down at his feet. Toes curling and uncurling. “Do you want something to eat? I can make… cereal.”

Yes. Anything. Anything to draw this out. To make it last. Even just a few more minutes.

“No. I should get going.”

Steve is already moving to get out of the bed. Pushing the blankets aside and letting his feet touch the floor. His shoes -- which he doesn’t even remember taking off -- are right next to them. 

“Oh,” Bucky says. Lifts his gaze from off the floor and back to Steve. “Yeah okay. Uh, Steve?” In the middle of tying his laces, Steve flicks his eyes up. “I’m sorry about yesterday. How I acted? What I said? I didn’t… I’m just sorry. For everything.”

Straightening back up, Steve lets out a heavy sigh. He knows Bucky’s sorry. So is he.

“Apology accepted.” He stands but doesn’t make for the door.

Once again, they just stare at each other. Silence taking up the rest of the space in the room. 

“I should apologize to your…” Bucky forcibly cuts himself off there. Doesn’t say the word again. “To Sharon. I will.”

“Okay.”

There are so many things Steve wants to say. To tell Bucky that everything is going to be the same. He wants to be selfish. Wants to keep him and knows that’s not an option. 

“So I’ll see you Monday,” Bucky says. “Right?” He goes over to his desk and goes through some of the papers there. Looking for something. “At noon,” he comments when he finds what he’s looking for. The schedule of his classes. “Same building and everything.”

“Yeah. Monday. And Wednesday.”

He purposely leaves out Thursday. Leaves it just at those two days and says nothing about their usual night. Bucky doesn’t turn back around. 

“And then…” He pauses. Steve can hear the apprehension in his voice. “Thursday?”

Bucky’s still facing the desk. Piece of paper in his hands. Steve can feel the glands in his throat. They grow uncomfortably tight. 

“I…” His mouth is dry. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

The way Bucky’s entire body stiffens puts lead in Steve’s stomach. Turns his insides to ash. Bucky’s shoulders stop moving like he’s holding his breath and he slowly lowers the paper back down to the desk. Drawing in a deep breath now, he turns back around. 

There’s something of an attempted smile on his lips. It’s off. Nothing happy about it at all even if he’s trying to pull off an air of nonchalance.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I guess I saw that coming. Well… it was fun while it lasted.”

Steve doesn’t know what to say. There’s pain in Bucky’s eyes. He knows what Steve does. This is it. Everything is about to change.

“We… we can still…” A shudder runs down Steve’s spine. “We’re still…”

“Friends?” Bucky finishes for him. 

“Friends,” Steve repeats. A hard lump forming in his throat. “No?”

The morning fills with even more tension as Steve waits for Bucky’s answer. It’s on him of course. If it’ll be too much of a transition, too hard, too _anything_ on Bucky, Steve won’t make him feel pressured to give him anything he doesn’t want.

Bucky’s eyes lower again. When his lips pull up this time, there’s a little more feeling to it. His jaw is tense though. Tightly closed as though he’s trying to keep emotions from escaping.

“Friends,” he says again. This time it’s accompanied with a nod of his head. “Okay.” His tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek. “Come on, Steve. I’ll walk you out.”

Neither Clint nor Natasha are in the living room or kitchen as Steve walks to the door with Bucky. Steve wants to reach out and take his hand. Hug him. Kiss him. Hold him.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you Monday, then,” Bucky remarks once he has the door open. 

Bucky’s leaning on the edge of the door, holding onto the doorknob and, Steve thinks, trying to keep his face straight. Try as he might, there’s still a tight pull at his lips and a pinch between his eyebrows. 

“Hey.” Steve tries to muster up some enthusiasm by nudging Bucky’s chin with his knuckles. It even makes a ghost of a smile appear. “It’s gonna be fun. Even more fun than last semester.”

Bucky chuckles quietly. 

“You’re such a dork.”

“That’s me,” Steve replies. “I’ll see you later, Buck.”

He nods once and looks up. 

“Goodbye, Steve.”

The door closes and Steve hears the lock bolting into place. Something about the sound, about the way Bucky’s said that, feels so final. A nail in the coffin. And something inside hurts.

Steve just stands there for a minute or two. He doesn’t know why. He just stays there, staring at the closed door before heading down the hall to leave. A dizzy, lightheaded feeling descends upon him as he goes. He feels the urge to cry but can’t quite find the tears. 

“Steve?”

He’s halfway down the second flight of stairs when Natasha calls him. She’s coming after him with a plastic bag in her hand.

“Yeah?”

Steve takes a few steps back up to meet her. She hands him the bag and then looks at him with a small frown on her face.

“He wanted me to give you this.”

“Oh.” Steve takes the bag. Feels the question on his face but she doesn’t answer. “Thanks?”

“Yeah.” She scratches the back of her neck, opens her mouth like she wants to say something, but goes back up the stairs instead. Adding a wave over her shoulder. “Thanks for being so good to him, Steve Rogers.”

Waiting until he’s alone, Steve opens the bag to look. His heart sinks to the floor. Inside the bag are the clothes he gave to Bucky. Folded up and placed neatly inside. 

On top of the clothes, is Steve’s hat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiii everyone! okay okay, _please_ don't hate me!! I'm still promising happy endings, i swear! Before the tomatoes start flying, I swear I update as soon as possible. The next few weeks I'll be working on Of Broken Dreams, but then it's straight back to this! 
> 
> For everyone's who's recently started school of any kind I hope the year's been kind to you so far! As summer draws to a close, I wish everyone a happy and safe autumn! 
> 
> so a little imagery
> 
> Here's Steve on Christmas ((minus the beard))
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> and Bucky on Christmas
> 
>  
> 
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> and a lovely edit by [lostromanianpuppy](lostromanianpuppy.tumblr.com)!!
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> Welp, again, please don't hate me!! I'll update again as soon as possible! But thanks so much for reading! :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My humblest apologies for the delay in getting the chapter up. It was a really busy few months between Nanowrimo and the holidays. Thank you so much for you continued interest and patience. 
> 
> As always, thank you to my wonderful beta [Stephrc79](http://Stephrc79.tumblr.com/) for taking the time to fix this mess!

The past two nights have seen Steve tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable or stay comfortable enough to slip into a deep sleep. The start of the new semester no longer feels as promising as it once did which is ludicrous. Completely illogical, and he knows it. Now Steve is running late. 

This is the second semester and he knows by now that no one is going to look at him like he’s a fish out of water. No one cares that he’s a bit older than the average student. The art department has expressed -- on more than one occasion -- how pleased they are with his performance -- both as a student and as an employee. He’s gone through his financial aid status several times. All the ‘t’s’ are crossed, the “i’s’ are dotted, and everything’s been taken care of. He’s an old pro at this. 

The lonely plastic bag hanging on its own wall hook glares at Steve as he ties up his shoes. Accuses him of what he doesn’t want to admit. 

It’s not the classes that have him worried. It’s the classmates. No. Class _mate_. 

Steve’s been much too chicken to get in touch with Bucky. He’s not even sure he has the right to do that now. Sure, Bucky agreed that they were still friends, but then why did he feel the need to give Steve his things back if he really wants to be friends? 

Steve knows that there are plenty of reasons. _He’s a bit… attached_ , Natasha had said. _And I’ve only seen him like this with_ one _other person_. Bucky can’t let Steve be another Brock for him. Even just a sliver of similarity might cause an inner disaster. Keeping the clothes -- the hat in particular -- may have hit too close to home. 

It’s a simple explanation. Easy. Reasonable. So there’s no reason to obsess over a plastic bag hanging in the living room. Steve can take it down, put the clothes away, and hang the hat back up where it was before Bucky got his sneaky little hands on it, and everything will be the same. Even though nothing is the same now. 

Steve really did want to get in touch with Bucky to see if he was okay. They’re friends; they both said so. It should be okay for Steve to want to check on his well being. On top of that, Steve doesn’t want Bucky to view this as being dumped. This is just a change, that’s all. Steve’s not just going to cut Bucky out of his life, he’s not. He’s determined to show Bucky -- _prove_ to him -- that he’s worth all of what’s been taken from him. 

But each and every time he’d tried, Steve was left with a blank text and a knot in his stomach. 

Once he’s finished tying his shoes, Steve hurries to grab his jacket. Knocks a hand into the plastic bag which makes it hiss a bit at him as he flings his coat on.

“Oh, shut up,” Steve mumbles. 

Keys in his mouth so he can zip up, Steve grabs his bookbag, and heads out the door. 

Parking at school is a nightmare, but he should have expected that. Steve should really consider just hopping the train. It’s just that he hates being packed in with all those people like that. What he really loves is his bike. Feeling the fresh air all around him and the freedom the whole thing allows. Ducking between traffic, even in the packed streets of New York. It’s a rush. Always. 

Steve remembers the look on Bucky’s face when he got a glimpse of his Harley. That shocked expression when he first saw it, combined with the attempt to remain indifferent while _maybe_ being a little impressed. Steve had hoped to convince Bucky to take a ride with him. Bucky’d looked pretty intimidated by it, but Steve would have done whatever he could to keep him safe, and show him the exhilaration and freedom he felt when riding. He’s pretty sure that’s never gonna happen now.

Finally finding a spot to park, Steve shakes his head. Thinking about things that will never happen just causes his stomach to hurt and make him even more nervous. Steve turns off the car, grabs the paper bag with his sandwich from the deli by his place, and hurries to meet Sharon. 

“You’re late,” Sharon teases as he slips in across from her. “I got you a hazelnut frappuccino.”

She slides the drink across the table to a very grateful Steve. The line for the mini-Starbucks is pretty long. If Steve wants to actually sit down and enjoy his sandwich, he doesn’t have time to wait on it. There’s already a smile on his face as the things he normally worries about disappear for a little bit. Steve really loves being with Sharon. He feels good when he’s with her and just… forgets about being nervous. 

“ _You_ are the best,” Steve says, to which he gets a smirk and a shrug from Sharon. “How much do I owe you?”

She waves her hand out as she takes a sip of her own drink. 

“Please,” she laughs. “You don’t need to pay me for a cup of coffee, Steve.”

Steve chuckles.

“Fine, fine. But I get the next round. Or, y’know, my treat for whatever we do next.”

Narrowing her eyes at him, Sharon takes a bite of her blueberry muffin. Makes a small show of chewing and swallowing before giving Steve a slight purse of her lips.

“You’ve just been waiting for a chance to pick up the bill, haven’t you.”

“Who _me_?” Steve places a hand over his heart. “Of course not.”

Sharon rips off a small piece of her muffin and pops it into her mouth with a shake of her head. There’s an amused smile on her face. 

“You’re too much. Adorable, though.” She throws him a wink. “What classes do you have today?”

“Uh.” Steve checks his watch. He knows he’s probably one of the last people in the world using a watch for such things, but he has a fondness for it. “In twenty minutes I have to report for Art History. After that is painting, and then Bio.”

Steve can’t deny that he’s excited. He’s nervous about the last class with Bucky, but he’s excited about the rest. Last semester, Steve took care of several core classes he needed to get out of the way. There are still more he needs to take, but he’s happy to throw more art courses onto his schedule this time around. 

Tomorrow, he and Sharon have a shared English class. Steve’s looking forward to sharing another class with her. Between that and the one science class, that’s all the core classes that Steve’s taking this semester — the rest are concentrated on his major. Steve gets to take a whole bunch of art classes. Yeah, he’s pretty excited about that. 

“So, I know it’s early in the week,” Sharon says. “But do you have plans this weekend yet?”

“Oh, I’m not sure.” Steve gives her a shrug and a wink. “Why? Can’t even think about going a weekend without seeing me?”

“You caught me!” she teases. “You have me wrapped around your finger already. Whatever shall I do?”

Steve chuckles and takes a sip of his drink. It’s nice to be able to joke around so easily with someone like Sharon. Sure, they may have met a few months ago, but for Steve to open up enough to tease and poke fun at her when they’ve only been seeing each other for a few weeks definitely means something. Sharon’s easy for him to be around. The conversations flow naturally and the silences -- however few and far between the are -- rarely feel awkward or uncomfortable. 

“I do have a suggestion though,” Steve says. “I really should spend _some_ time working on my exhibit.” Which opens in a month. Steve’s trying not to let the panic get to him. “But maybe Saturday I can cook you dinner?”

Mouth full of muffin, Sharon gives him something of an impressed look before chewing more and then swallowing. 

“ _Cook_ dinner? Aren’t _you_ just full of surprises.”

Steve chuckles. 

“Well, if you’re not gonna let me _buy_ you dinner, it’s the best I’m gonna get, huh?”

“Hmm.” Sharon drums her fingers along her jawline. Lips pulled into that playful purse of hers. “Maybe I should pay you for the ingredients, then? Y’know, just to make it fair.”

“Aw, come on!” Steve laughs and smothers his face with his hands. 

Laughing along with him, Sharon takes hold of both his wrists and pulls his right hand up to her lips to kiss his knuckles. She then taps those knuckles before placing his hands down on the table.

“You’re too cute, Steve Rogers.” Her eyes shine when she looks at him. A dimple deepening with her smile. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll _allow_ you to cook me dinner this weekend _without_ my interference.”

Steve places a hand over his heart then dabs at his eyes like he might shed a tear at the offer. 

“Sharon Carter, you are too good to me.”

“Nah.” Sharon lets out a cute, little giggle and laces their fingers together. “I think that’s all you, Steve.”

Warmth pools in Steve’s belly whenever she says things like that to him. Like she really means it. They might not have any concrete goals set for their relationship, but Sharon always makes Steve feel like he means so much to her. Steve hopes the gestures she accepts from him convey what he wants them to. That she means that much to him as well. Because she does, she really does. 

 

Once they’re finished eating, they leave together and get to walk in the same direction. Since neither of them are wearing gloves -- a bit of a mistake since it’s pretty damn cold out -- Steve glances down between them and slips his hand into Sharon’s. He’s met with no resistance, and Sharon smiles.

They’re in their own little world -- chatting away about the Yankees versus the Mets -- when they’re interrupted. The tap on his shoulder catches not only Steve’s attention, but Sharon’s as well. When Steve turns, he’s a bit surprised at what he sees. 

There’s Bucky, and he’s not sporting his normal, stylish look. Instead of form fitting jeans and a shirt to match, he’s wearing sweats and, from what Steve can tell from under the oversized, zip-up hoodie, a baggy t-shirt. His hair isn’t done, either, like he slept on it and ran out after maybe running a comb through it once. He looks tired. Above all, he looks incredibly nervous as he stands there shifting his weight from foot to foot, and curling his fingers in and out.

“Hi,” Steve greets softly, the tone of surprise clear in his voice. “What’re you doing here?”

Something of a smile whispers along Bucky’s lips. They don’t quite pull up, but amusement does hug the corners of his mouth.

“I…” Bucky snickers lightly. “I go to school here,” he says. “Remember?”

Of course. The smartass. That’s not what Steve meant by it though. It’s just that it’s still pretty early in the morning -- just a few minutes before eight. Maybe Steve doesn’t know everything about Bucky, but he does know that being up early is _not_ high on his priority list.

Rather than saying anything about not expecting to see him at this time, Steve realizes that he’s found himself in a delicate situation. Last time the three of them even remotely interacted, it hadn’t ended pleasantly. Right now, it looks as though Bucky’s trying not make eye contact with Sharon. Nervously. As if catching eyes with her will bring the wrath of god. Or Sharon. Whichever’s scarier. 

“Uh.” Steve waves between both Sharon and Bucky. “Sharon, you remember my friend Bucky, right?”

“I do,” she answers. Sharon nods a polite greeting in Bucky’s direction. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Though Bucky’s gaze landed on Sharon when she greeted him, they now flick from her face to his feet. His lips twist and he shakes his head. 

“No, it’s not,” he grumbles. And then, as if suddenly realizing that could be taken more than one way, he snaps his head back up. “No, no! That’s not… I didn’t mean…” Bucky clenches his jaw and Steve’s sure something in Russian slips out. “I meant, it’s not nice for you. To see me. Cause I…” He lets out a disgruntled sigh and forgoes the attempts at explaining the potential blunder. “I’m sorry for how I acted. The other day. It was rude. And immature. And stupid. And I was stupid, and I was upset about something that had nothing to do with you.” He’s rambling now. Trying to get so many things out at once. “S’no excuse, I know, and Nat says she’d’ve slapped me. You can hit me if you want. I’d understand. You can. Nat would’ve.”

Bucky is still going on with his apology when Sharon reaches out to place a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. The second her hand lifts, however, Bucky flinches. Tensing up and preparing for something that’s not actually coming. 

Sharon freezes and then drops her hand. “Oh, honey, no.” She reaches out again, cautious and hesitant, and gently touches Bucky’s chin. “No, I wasn’t gonna hit you. I’m sorry, Bucky.”

An awkward chuckle escapes with Bucky’s exhale as he scratches at the back of his neck and clears his throat. Steve knows that look. Bucky’s embarrassed, and it makes Steve want to scream since he knows that Bucky flinched and tensed up as he expected Sharon’s hand to sail at him because it’s happened before. This scenario is entirely different, but Bucky’s more used to _being_ hit than not. 

“S’okay,” Bucky says. Lets out another uneasy chuckle. “I really wouldn’t blame you if you did. And I am sorry. For what I said and how I acted.”

“Thank you, hon,” Sharon accepts and graciously puts the whole incident behind her. “It’s water under the bridge. Besides, Steve thinks very highly of you.”

Though Bucky’s eyes have been trying to find a spot to focus -- as though he’s unsure exactly where to look -- they get a bit larger when she says that. Bucky looks directly at her now. That secret smile of his fighting against his best efforts to keep it back. 

“Yeah?”

“That’s right,” she says. “He’s had nothing but good things to say about you.”

Bucky struggles to keep that smile in check. He doesn’t manage all that well, especially when his gaze flicks to Steve for a split second. 

“Well you…” Bucky clears his throat and fiddles a bit with the ends of his sleeves. “You must be someone--” His voice drops a bit “--real good.” _You should find yourself someone real good, Steve_. “And you, uh, you got yourself a good guy there.”

The left corner of Bucky’s mouth lifts up, almost like he’s a little unsure if it’s okay to smile. Steve’s heart beats happily against his ribs. Pumps warmth through him when Bucky’s eyes find his, even more so when Sharon nods in agreement. 

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I’ve been getting that feeling.”

Face bright red, Steve ducks his head down with a nervous laugh. 

“You’re both too much,” he mumbles. 

That gets a laugh from Sharon and a soft chuckle from Bucky. Then nothing but the cold wind carrying the chatter of passersby. 

“Uh, so.” Bucky coughs and shuffles his feet at the same time. “I gotta go see my adviser.”

Ah, so that must be why he’s here so early. 

“Always waiting till the last minute, huh?” Steve teases. Or tries to anyway. Even he can hear the tension in his voice. 

Bucky gives him a soft smile. Might even try to laugh a bit, knowing Steve is trying to play with him. 

“Yeah,” he says as he starts to back away. “Some last minute schedule changes.”

That puts lead in Steve’s stomach. Schedule changes? Does he mean…? The only thing on Steve’s mind is finding out now. He’d promised he’d never make Bucky uncomfortable — at least, never on purpose — but he still reaches out for Bucky’s wrist to keep him from rushing off. 

“But I’ll… I’ll see you later, right?” Steve questions. “In class?”

The first response Steve gets to that is Bucky’s attempt to dislodge his wrist from Steve’s hold. Which, of course, Steve doesn’t resist, and he lets go at the initial attempt. Bucky’s expression is a bit unreadable. Lip pinned under his teeth and eyes darting from the ground and back up to Steve over and over. 

“I’ll… I’ll see you later,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry again, Sharon. Really.”

He goes then. Without waiting for any response at all. Bucky just turns on his heel and heads back the way he came. The opposite direction of the advisement center. 

A cold wind circles around Steve and blows a bit of the leftover snow across the ground like bits and pieces of broken glass being swept along stone. Steve’s heart, which a few moments ago had felt so full of life, now hurts with every beat. There’s nothing he can do about it. If Bucky’s decided they can’t be friends, Steve will just have to live with that. Even if the idea leaves his head spinning and throat tight. 

“Are you okay, Steve?”

Sharon’s hand on his arm. Steve glances at her and finds concern written all over her face. He can’t imagine it’s all for him. Sure, he’s unnerved by the thought of Bucky potentially dropping the class they’ve scheduled together, but he’s determined to respect Bucky’s decision. No matter what that is. 

“Yeah,” Steve answers. The word just managing to come out. “Are you?”

Sharon nods and takes it upon herself to get them moving again. She’s quiet as they walk. 

“I should have been more careful,” she states after a few moments. “I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know?” Steve has no idea what she’s talking about. “Didn’t know what?”

“Someone’s hit him. Bucky, I mean.” Sharon shakes her head. An angry movement accompanied by a disappointed scowl. “He’s been hit before, hasn’t he?”

Leave it to Sharon’s skills of observation to understand exactly why Bucky tensed before. Still, it’s definitely not his place to explain to Sharon what Bucky’s been through so he just nods. 

“It’s complicated,” he says. “But yes.”

She mumbles something Steve can’t quite understand. Sounds like a curse. Steve doesn’t blame her. Hitting someone the way Bucky’s been hit is not something Sharon would do so it’s just something she didn’t consider having to worry about. 

She sighs. “I hope I didn’t upset him.”

“I’m sure you didn’t.”

Knowing Bucky, he’d probably have accepted a slap as comeuppance for what went on this weekend. Penance. Something he deserved even _after_ the heat of the moment. He’d be wrong, of course, but he’d have welcomed it as his way of making amends. The thought makes Steve shake. 

“Still.” Sharon sighs again and shakes her head. They’ve just reached her building so she stops in front of the doors. “That’s just… _wrong_. He seems like a good kid.”

“He is,” Steve agrees. A bit preoccupied now with the thought of Bucky not showing up for their class. “He really is, Sharon. I…”

The hand at the side of his face settles the anxiety that he didn’t even realize started shooting through him. Sharon touches him gently and presses her lips lightly to his. 

“Hey,” she whispers. “It’s okay. _I’m_ the one who did it, if he’s upset. Not you.”

That’s not true though. Steve _has_ upset him. He’s hurt him. In ways that he can’t explain to anyone. Steve doesn’t know how to fix this. Or even if he can. 

 

After bidding Sharon goodbye -- she gives him a tight hug and another kiss -- Steve heads for his first art class. 

It goes as well as can be expected. There’re introductions and expectations — what they’ll be covering in the class. 

The class goes by quickly, and afterwards he heads straight to the studio where his next class, Painting, is being held. Which happens to be introduced by Dr. Xavier, since he teaches Painting 305. Dr. Xavier gives a speech to welcome the class and gives them all the prerequisites to qualify for his class next semester -- such as an A average in the class, the completion of Art History, and a recommendation from Professor Frost. 

Unfortunately, they don’t do anything but discuss the plans for the semester’s projects. Not that Steve really expected to do much, but being in the studio surrounded by all the paints and easels and canvases sparks something inside of him. Makes him really feel like an art student. Which is funny, seeing how he’s already preparing an exhibit for a museum. But there’s just something so _real_ about being in a classroom setting for this. It makes Steve smile. 

Steve has some time to kill between his second and last class so he spends it grabbing a bite to eat and trying to relax at the student center. After Bio he’ll work at the art department for the rest of the afternoon. Monday’s are going to be long, but the rest of the week will be easier. 

Since both lecture and lab are in the same building and room again, getting there is simple, but Steve is surprised to see a few familiar faces. When he walks into the room, Kate, Kamala, Billy and Teddy are all there. No Jim. And no Bucky. 

“Hey, Steve!” Teddy greets him the second he spots him walking in. “How’s it goin’?”

They’re all in the same seats they occupied last semester, and since the room is still relatively empty, they’re having no problems conversing across it. 

“Not bad,” Steve answers. “How was everyone’s vacation?”

“Good!” Kate says. “Way too fast.”

“I didn’t know you guys would be here,” Steve comments. “It’s good to see you.”

“Oh, yeah,” Billy states. “We thought it’d be neat. ‘Cept for Jim cause he graduated.” He glances around the room. Eyebrows pulled in. “Bucky said he registered, but…”

“Yeah, where is he?” Kamala asks. 

“I, uh…” Steve adjusts the strap of his book bag. “I’m not sure actually.”

He adds a quick smile and a shrug before heading for the same seat as last time. It welcomes him back like an old friend. Same with the table as Steve puts his notebook down on it. He joins a bit of the conversations, which range from what went on during their vacations to some show they all watch. 

More students come in and more seats get taken. No Bucky. When their professor walks in -- a middle-aged man with curly brown hair -- the conversations die down. No Bucky. 

“Good afternoon, I’m Professor McCoy, and welcome to Bio 102,” he greets. “We’ll be meeting here for both lectures and labs since they’re still doing work on the lecture halls in the building.”

Professor McCoy goes on to explain some of his guidelines and policies regarding absences, grading, and lateness. He seems like a pleasant man. Intelligent. Well-rounded. He makes a few jokes and then moves onto the subjects he intends to cover. Still no Bucky.

Steve glances at the empty seat next to him. It’s never been that way, not during class anyway. There’s always been a body next to him. Warm and active. A presence that didn’t just take up space but touched Steve in a way that he didn’t realize until it wasn’t there. Bucky’s absence is greater than Steve could have imagined. It just about breaks his heart. All over again. 

Something cold runs through him as he sits there alone. Steve glances out at the rest of the room. Everyone else is partnered up. Teddy and Billy with their heads together, while Kate and Kamala are both jotting down things Professor McCoy is saying, which makes Steve realize he should probably be doing the same, but all he can concentrate on is the nothingness beside him. 

Until Professor McCoy begins to discuss what they’ll be doing in lab this week.

And Bucky darts into the room. Hair wind blown and cheeks flushed and out of breath. 

“Excuse me,” Professor McCoy says. “Are you in this class?” Bucky only manages a nod. “You’re almost twenty minutes late.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” he struggles to get out between heavy breaths. “I’m… I got stuck… I’m sorry…”

“Alright.” He says. “Let’s not make a habit of this, shall we?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky agrees with a few quick nods. “I won’t.”

“Then take a seat so we can move on.”

Bucky nods once more and looks out at the class. His eyes must find the other four first, since he jerks his chin in their direction. A small smirk tugs at his lips as he walks towards the back. Towards Steve but without looking at him. Not even a glimpse. He’s still not looking as he moves behind him to take the empty seat. 

At first, Steve had perked up. Bucky was here. He hadn’t dropped the course after all. A smile pulled up on Steve’s mouth as soon as he saw him. Completely involuntary. 

But when he sits down next to him there’s something different about it. There isn’t that ease of familiarity to the way he’s seated. In fact, he’s stiff and rigid as he hovers over his notebook. Steve looks over at him. His stupid grin fading as Bucky trains his eyes on the blank page. 

Maybe this was a mistake — one Steve has no idea how to rectify. Nerves bloom in his stomach. Will it be like this all semester? An air of tension that fixes itself to them the second they’re next to each other? 

Steve is sure this is worse than that first day. When he had been positive he’d never see the kid he’d paid for sex again and wound up having to share a class as his lab partner. That day though, Bucky had been cool and collected. Not bothered by the predicament at all. Today it’s the opposite. 

Today, the air fills with Bucky’s unease. The thick, awkward tension that wafts around their little section while the rest of the class remains immune to the toxins that plague them. 

When Bucky pulls a pen out of his pocket, Steve realizes he’s still staring at him as if he’s waiting for something to happen. Or to change. For Bucky to glance over at him maybe. With that smirk on his lips and that sparkle in his eyes. He doesn’t, of course, and Steve looks back at his own notebook. Fearful that he’ll never see that smile again.

 

Like Dr. Grey last semester, Professor McCoy dismisses them for a fifteen minute break at the midway mark. Taking a double lecture again was not something Steve was really looking forward to, but he figured doing it with Bucky would make it better. Joke might be on him. 

The room starts to stir. Established friends immediately fall into the ease of conversations -- some picking up right where they left off. A few strangers string together words of greeting while others slip headphones on to enjoy whatever solitude they can find. Some people leave to stretch their legs or smoke or grab something from the vending machines. 

Next to Steve, Bucky pushes away from the lab table and just sits there for a moment. It looks like it might be a bit of a struggle this time for him not to look over at Steve since his eyes start to move in his direction more than once. Instead of giving in and looking, Bucky stands and leaves the room without a word. 

Steve lets out a heavy breath as Bucky makes his way towards the door. His heart’s been pounding. Harder than he realized. Bucky is hurting, just like Natasha told Steve he’d be. None of this was on purpose but it still happened and this is the consequence. 

Bucky’s departure catches the attention of his other four friends. They must take note of his disposition since all of them watch him leave and then look at Steve as if he might be able to provide an explanation. It’s in that moment -- with four people sharing something with him, even if they don’t understand what -- that Steve realizes he has two choices here. He can ignore this. Let it continue down the path it’s started and spend the semester dripping with this apprehension. Or he can do something about it. 

The decision is easy. 

Steve gets up and follows Bucky out. He already knows he’ll be standing — right outside smoking a cigarette. Bucky’s got the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up over his head and the sleeves pulled over his hands. Because his hood is pulled up like that, he doesn’t see Steve coming. Gives Bucky no time to avoid him. 

“Can we talk?” 

His question startles Bucky. He jumps a bit and whips his gaze over at Steve, peering at him from the side of his hood. 

“Uh… yeah?”

Despite the tension between them, Bucky’s still kind enough to lower the cigarette in an attempt to keep the smoke away from Steve. 

He watches Steve. Waits for him to say something. Which make sense given Steve’s the one who’s initiated the conversation in the first place. 

Problem is, Steve doesn’t know _what_ to say. He knows what he _wants_ to say — he wants to tell Bucky that he loves him and probably always will. He wants to tell him that he can still trust him. That no matter what happens between them that he’ll always be there for him. Steve wants him to know that if they can’t be together romantically or intimately, that he’ll still be the best friend to Bucky he can possibly be. Above all, Steve wants to say that he believes Bucky is so much more than he gives himself credit for.

Instead of any of that, Steve says, “Bucky, this… this isn’t easy for me either.” Bucky’s eyes drop to his feet. “I don’t want you to think I… that the other day I just… I dunno. Rode off into the sunset to bigger and better things or something.”

“Didn’t you?” Bucky murmurs. Then shakes his head with a sigh. “S’alright, Steve. You’re not the first customer to move on.” He shrugs a shoulder. “I’m used to it.”

That right there makes Steve’s heart shatter into a million pieces. _I’m used to it_. Used to people promising him the world and then not delivering. Even though, in this case, Bucky didn’t quite _let_ Steve deliver. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. 

“What’do you want me to do?” Steve asks. “How can I help?”

“W-what?”

“Do you want me to drop the class? Your other friends are in the class so it’s not fair for you to have to do it. I’ll drop it if that’ll make things easier for you.”

Bucky’s still looking at the ground, tapping his foot. Nervous tap, tap, taps along the frost covered concrete. He takes a long drag of his cigarette before flicking it away and then rubbing his fingers into his eyes. 

“I don’t…” Bucky sighs and tries again. “I don’t want you to drop the class.”

“You were going to.”

Of that Steve’s now sure of. Bucky had come to school early to make that change to his schedule. Something had changed his mind at the very last second. 

Bucky twists his lips and looks down again. This time, with a nod of his head, officially confirming Steve’s beliefs.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “But I didn’t.” Bucky looks at Steve now and shrugs. “I wanna take the class together. I just dunno how to do this, Steve. I’ve… I’ve never done it before.”

“Mm.” Steve nods. “I just… what can I do to make it easier? Better? Anything?”

“I dunno, Steve,” Bucky sighs. “I dunno if this is even possible.”

“Are you sure you…” Steve’s stomach hurts. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drop the class?” 

“You… you really think we can do this? Be friends? Even though I… I’m… and after we…” Steve knows what Bucky can’t bring himself to say. What he jokes around about with people who don’t know. Even though he’s a sex worker and Steve was a customer. “I mean, well, Brock said…”

“I’m _not_ Brock, Bucky,” Steve says. “Sex or no sex. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you in my life.”

Stars pierce through the shadows that have darkened Bucky’s eyes. A hopeful smile touches Bucky’s face. It’s slight. Not daring to get too big. Just in case. 

“R-really? You mean that?”

“Oh, Bucky.” Steve doesn’t care how long it takes. He’s going to show Bucky that not everyone will abandon him. He reaches out to place a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Of course. I _want_ to be friends with you. Whatever that means to you.”

Before answering Steve’s statement, Bucky first moves a step back so that Steve’s hand slips away. 

“I… I wanna take the class together,” he says softly. Adds a nod as if punctuating the end of his statement for himself. “And I, uh, I wanna be friends, Steve.”

He gives Steve an unsure smile. Still worried that maybe Steve’s offer is going to be snatched away, just like Brock had done. If Steve ever sees that son of a bitch again he’ll be lucky if Steve doesn’t break his goddamn neck.

“I’m glad,” Steve whispers. “Cause, Bucky... You’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had.”

Bucky’s eyes grow wide before he tucks his chin in and rubs his fingers into them. Steve’s not completely sure, but Bucky’s eyes may have gotten a bit misty before looking down again. He looks up once or twice like he might want to say something, though no words ever manage to come out.

Still, relief breathes around them both. Steve can feel it. Feel the tension starting to slowly melt away. It’s not gone, but it’s a start. Giving them a chance to begin as something else. As what, Steve’s not sure. But it’s certainly better than nothing. 

“Come on, Buck,” Steve says. “We should get back in.”

“‘Kay.”

They go back into the room together and sit down at their table. Bucky’s no longer as stiff and rigid as he was at the beginning of class. He’s loosened up. It’s not the way he was last semester, with an air of ease and casualness. Nonchalantly jotting down some notes and getting a bit restless when the boredom kicked in. 

There’s less aloofness to his posture today, but he never falls into that total sense of ease. Bucky continuously takes notes even though Steve knows he doesn’t really need to. Still, at the end of class, while everyone rises and stretches and starts to leave, Bucky stuffs his syllabus into his notebook and slams it closed. He glances up at the others. At Kate, Kamala, Billy, and Teddy. The four of them gathered together as they make their way to the door.

“Hey!” Bucky shouts and shoots out of his seat. “Wait up, you guys!”

His shout not only gets their attention, but their smiles and waves of welcome as well. Because that’s more like the Bucky they’ve come to know. A bit more full of life. Confident. And he lets himself get sucked right into the excitement of being all together again. 

It’s not all an act, at least, Steve doesn’t think so. But he also knows that Bucky’s a pro at lies. At stringing together false smiles and perfectly executed words to clear grey skies, and make everything seem fine when it’s not. He’s much better at reading Bucky now. Some of the smiles are real. Some of them aren’t. 

They’re all leaving together, Bucky lost within them, when he slows a bit and turns around. There’s a smirk on his face. A little nervous, a little normal. He gives a small salute.

“See ya later, narc,” he mutters softly, stepping backwards as he does. 

Steve grins back and nods. Chuckles gently, too.

“Bye, Buck,” Steve says. “I’ll see you Wednesday?”

Bucky narrows his eyes like he needs a second to think about that, but his smile never drops, and he nods before spinning around and giving his attention back to the others. 

Even though Bucky’s not looking, Steve returns the smile. He’s not sure what’s going to happen now, but this is something. And something is better than nothing. 

***

Over the next few weeks, Steve struggles to fit into this new strange place he’s found himself. 

School is, well...simply put, school is actually a lot of fun. _Yeah, you were always a dork_ , Sam had teased not that long ago. So maybe it’s a little true. Steve’s a bit of a dork who pays close attention and takes tons of notes and asks questions and always has his homework done. What can he say, he likes to learn. 

This semester’s also a lot easier than last, now that Steve’s got a general idea of how things work. He’s not nearly as nervous, and it’s so much simpler to ease into the flow of things. Knowing he’s not the oldest one or the only one just starting, Steve doesn’t have that sense of dread he had before. Which makes it a lot easier to strike up conversations with his classmates, answer questions they have and even ask _them_ questions when he has some instead of letting them eat away at him. 

Most evenings, Steve stays on campus after work to take advantage of his available use of the art studios. Since Dr. Xaiver is collegues with Scott, not to mention the one who recommended Steve for this project in the first place, he’s given Steve free, private use of the studios after hours. Which, as opening night draws closer and closer, Steve utilizes more and more. 

There will be other artists presenting their work, some who have made a name for themselves already. Steve’s art will be among the classics and rising stars. The thought leaves him dizzy. 

Last month, when he met with Scott for approval for the final pieces, he’d agreed to do a few that were more personal. Three inparticular. It’s a good idea and Steve knows it, but sometimes he still feels like he’s stripping himself naked and strutting out on display for all to see.

“It’s gonna be amazing, Steve,” Sam had said once when Steve called him from the studio late one night in a bit of a panic. “What’d your mama always say?”

Steve had taken in a deep breath and forced it back out of tight, tight lungs. Tried to force the room to feel big and opened again. 

“I make… I make the world beautiful.”

She did say that. All the time. Whenever he even showed her a doodle or a sketch. To be honest, Sarah Rogers was _probably_ a little bit biased, but it always meant a great deal to him. Sam’s reminder made Steve smile.

“That’s right,” Sam said. “Maybe I’ve never said this before, but I agree with her, man.”

“Sam…” Steve breathed. Tears filled his eyes and warmth ran through him. He looked out at the half finished piece he was working on that night. “Thank you. You’ll be there, right?”

“Opening night. Got my invitation right on the fridge.” Opening night is invitation only. As one of the artists with an exhibit there, Steve’s been given a certain amount so he can personally invite some people. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, buddy.”

Sharon’s asked a few times about the exhibit and his pieces, but Steve won’t talk about them. That’s something he’s always firmly held onto. Other than sketches for fun, Steve never shows his work to anyone until it’s complete. He won’t let the magic escape beforehand.

He gets to see Sharon nearly everyday which is an absolute delight. Especially the _two_ times in class when their professor needed to pause with the lecture in order to ask them to please quiet down. Afterwards Steve, naturally, blamed Sharon. Sharon, naturally, blamed Steve. They bickered playfully as Sharon tickled Steve until he admitted it was his fault. 

They meet for breakfast most mornings and have seen each other once every weekend since the semester started. Steve’s had her over for dinner more than once and each time had gone out of his way to go as over the top cheesy as possible. Candles and classical music and rose petals on the table. 

“Oh my god,” Sharon laughed upon coming in the first time. “Steve!”

“Hey, you won’t let me take you out,” he replied while helping her out of her coat. “So you’ll have to deal with this instead.”

She’d rolled her eyes and sighed but still smiled and took his hand to pull him in so she could kiss his cheek. 

Things are going well with Sharon. Sure, Steve’s a nurturer, and Sharon really doesn’t look for that in any part of her relationships, but that’s okay. Whenever Steve’s with her, he feels so serene. Almost like those few hours a week he got to spend with Bucky, time spent with Sharon is time Steve doesn’t worry about everything else. He doesn’t worry about his upcoming exhibit or the last ten years. He doesn’t worry about getting into the advanced painting courses. He doesn’t worry about Bucky. Well, he doesn’t worry about Bucky _as_ much. 

Under more normal circumstances, falling in love with Sharon would be easy. So natural. Gravity taking hold of Steve and just pulling him down. But these are not normal circumstances. And Steve is holding back. 

For one, Sharon has made it clear that she’s not looking for anything serious at the moment. Sure, they’ve decided they’ll see where things take them, and maybe one day that might include love, but that day is not today. She’s only recently finalized her divorce and she has goals to reach the FBI. Sharon has dreams, and that might not include the same things Steve has in mind. 

Not to mention the fact that Steve is _already_ in love. With someone who doesn’t love him back. Or doesn’t want to love him back. Or something. 

It’s not that Steve doesn’t believe falling in love with two people isn’t possible. Quite the contrary. He’s very sure it can and does happen. What he’s most concerned with is it happening to him. And right now, Steve would _really_ like to avoid making anything any more complicated than it already is. 

Because yes, school is going well, and, yes, while the MoMA exhibit is nerve wracking, it’s also hopeful and exciting, and, yes, things with Sharon are incredible. But things with Bucky are nothing but complicated. 

It’s just… being near Bucky used to make Steve feel so… _alive_. It used to light him up inside. He’d be excited to be anywhere near him. To hear his voice, to see his face, to talk to him. Now, Steve’s not sure how to feel when he’s near him. 

They’ve concluded that they’re friends, sure, but they don’t talk outside class. What they do say to each other during class is polite and casual at best. They don’t see each other outside of class either. Not on purpose anyway. They’ll catch a glimpse of each other on campus or at the student center where Steve will smile and wave, and Bucky will do the same. And they go on their way as if that’s all they’ve ever been. A meet and greet. Nothing more. Nothing less. 

Class is difficult. Their interactions are no longer easy and comfortable. Instead, they’re almost forced. Half the time, Steve feels like Bucky’s a prisoner that’s trapped with him against his will. Like Steve’s a captor he wants nothing to do with. Bucky’s tightlipped and stiff and will speak only when spoken to or if he really has to.

“Did you get single-stranded mRNA for slide two?”

The lab -- about a week ago -- was on RNA versus DNA. Steve had been struggling a bit with it, with the microscope especially. Things were blurry in it no matter what he did. 

Instead of being answered the way Steve had become accustomed to -- Bucky happy and eager to help -- he barely even glanced at him and just nodded once. 

“Yeah,” he grunted. No explanation. No offer to help. Just a quick, hurried answer followed by a reach for the slides. 

Knowing it was going to take some time to transition into something other than what they were, Steve tried to let that response -- and others like it -- go by. Rather than addressing it, Steve simply tried handing the box of slides over to Bucky, only to have him recoil the second their fingers accidentally touched -- the brush of their skin making Bucky react as though it burned him -- and the slides spilled all over the table. 

For a moment, both of them just stared at the mess. Then Bucky’s eyebrows pulled in and he tried cleaning everything up. Quickly. Like if he gathered all the slides up fast enough, Steve would forget the whole thing happened. 

Bucky’s entire demeanor started to shift. He’d gone from cold to suddenly being almost scared. The slides were jumbled up in his grip as he tried to shove them back in the box and whispering words of apology as he did. Steve reached out to gently put his hand on Bucky’s wrist, but pulled back at the last second. 

“Bucky,” Steve whispered. 

Bucky looked at him, Steve thought, for the first time that afternoon. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. Shifted a bit so that there was a bit more distance between them. “I… I’m trying, Steve. I swear.”

He is. Steve knows that. Because other times, Bucky pulls out polite smiles and will occasionally let the hard exterior slip. Which is exactly what Steve figures it is. A slip. Bucky forgetting, just for a moment, to keep his guard up. When it falls, Steve can catch glimpses of his sweet boy. A young man full of passion and knowledge, and who’s loyal and sweet and ridiculously outgoing but also a tiny bit shy. Who’s full of confidence and yet doesn’t even come close to knowing his own self worth. 

“So, yeah, what happens when oxygen and hydrogen see gold at the bar?”

That had been Bucky’s greeting the lecture _before_ the slides incident. He came into the room with Kate and Kamala, spent a few minutes talking with them and Billy and Teddy, and then glimpsed over to where Steve was sitting before excusing himself to join him. 

It took Steve a second to realize that Bucky was opening the afternoon with a joke. Cautious and a bit timid, but still trying. Eyes attempting to stay on Steve, but mostly falling back to the desktop. 

“I dunno, Buck,” Steve answered. “What?”

“They said: ‘AU! Get outta here!’” He grinned. Still with that unsure and anxious pull at the corners of his mouth. “You know, cause… AU is…”

“The atomic symbol for gold,” Steve finished for him. He got the joke. Cornball and cheesy. Right up his alley. He chuckled and went to tousle Bucky’s hair, but Bucky dodged the hand right before Steve could touch him. “You’re a dope.”

“Hey,” Bucky countered. “I’m a fucking delight.”

Steve scoffed and shook his head.

“A delight, hm?” he teased. “Is _that_ what you think?”

“Think? Please, grandpa, I _know_.” Bucky smirked at him. Eyes bright like Steve had seen them so often in the past. The way Bucky used to always look at him. “ _I_ know it. _They_ know it.” He pointed to the four others across the room. “And _you_ know it.”

Bucky had poked Steve’s arm when he said it and then kept poking it as if trying to drive his point home. So Steve jerked towards him like he was going to tickle him, but simply left his hands at Bucky’s sides. Before realizing that’s all he’d done, Bucky yelped. It made Steve laugh and it made Bucky laugh and, for just one moment, they both seemed to forget that anything had changed between them. 

Until they remembered. 

Or, Bucky did. And he cleared his throat as he shimmied enough to pull away from Steve’s touch. Something he used to crave. Something he now avoids. 

Steve tries to respect that, he really does, but it’s hard. All these months, touching Bucky -- a hand on his knee or shoulder, a tickle or soft brush of skin -- has been so normal and natural that not being permitted to do so feel so wrong. 

Like Bucky though, Steve is trying. 

Steve is trying and he knows Bucky’s trying. Which is all Steve can ask for. Because other than their rollercoaster interactions in class, they don’t speak at all. Sure, they’ve agreed to friends, but Steve’s not so sure what that means anymore. Maybe they’re just the type of friends who never see each other outside of a scheduled time and who never talk beyond a bit of chit chat during that scheduled time. And maybe they’re the type of friends who will no longer… _be_ friends once the scheduled time runs out. 

The thing is, the more time that passes, the more Steve’s sure he’s done the right thing. 

Bucky’s on his mind so often that it’s almost humorous. Most thoughts that run through Steve are out of worry. He’s always _worried_ about Bucky. Where is he? Is he safe? Is he okay? Is he hungry? Is he warm? Which isn’t all that different from how Steve used to be, but now he can’t find any of that relief he used to have. He can’t ask Bucky to text him, and their brief interactions don’t really give all that much to satisfy Steve in any way. 

All of this just leads Steve to believe one thing. It wouldn’t have worked between him and Bucky. If Steve’s this worried about Bucky _now_ , he can’t imagine how worried he’d be if they were dating. He’d be a mess. He’s sure of it. 

So, yes, Steve is sure. He’s… _almost_ a hundred percent positive that he’s done the right thing.

What he can’t figure out now is why there’s this ache -- this almost constant ache -- right in the middle of his chest. 

*** 

The student center really isn’t the best spot for Steve to be right now. It’s cold out -- and a bit of slushy rain has been falling on and off all day -- so the place is packed and noisy. But the studios are being used for classes right now and so are the classrooms. Going home is pointless since he’d just have to turn around and come back after maybe twenty minutes, and that’s only if Steve hits no traffic. Which leaves Steve with the student center as the best option. 

Sometimes it’s still so hard to believe that his work is going to be up on display at the Museum of Modern Art. What’s even _harder_ to believe is that it’s happening this Friday. He’s finished with his pieces. Steve has been met with Scott’s approval and they’ve been working together on the arrangements of all nine of them -- which is what Steve’s come here to further think on -- but, as usual, all Steve can do is second guess himself. 

Most of the past few days have been spent going over and over his pieces with Scott -- which means, of course, he’s also sick of looking at them -- and even arguing over the positioning of them and the lighting and shadowing, and at this point he’s pretty sure every little thing is going to bug him. It was even sprung on him during these last few days that his work could be bid on. Steve’s work. Being bought.

The very thought of it is just as nauseating as it is thrilling. People buying Steve’s art to put on display in their homes or offices or wherever. Of course, there’s also this annoying voice that keeps wondering what it’ll be like if every other artist there has their art being bought up while Steve just stands there, being passed over. His art gathering dust. 

He takes a deep breath. This is the point of art — why he wants to do it. What he can’t tell the world with words, he can show it with colors and shades and shapes. Maybe touch some people in a way that will leave an everlasting impression. Make them feel good. Or give them a chance to feel something they themselves have been having trouble expressing. 

He’s been given excused absences both Wednesday and Thursday courtesy of Dr. Xavier and, now that it’s really crunch time, anytime Steve thinks about this Friday, he finds it hard to breathe as he worries about every little thing that needs to be done. Which is why Steve is drawing a rough sketch -- _another_ rough sketch -- of what he thinks the display should look like. He’s in the middle of an internal debate over where two pieces should end up when he hears some familiar voices. 

“Come on, come on! One game before class!”

Steve glances up. He doesn’t usually like to sit so close to the activities area where kids gather to shoot pool and play foosball or ping-pong, but, given how packed it is, he had limited options and grabbed the first seat he could. That places him right by the pool table. Where Bucky is currently dragging Natasha and Clint to. 

“There’s only three of us,” Clint says. “We all gonna play against each other?”

“Me and Bucky against you,” Natasha suggests with a simply shrug of her shoulder. “You’re always going on about how you can do anything. Cause you’re older.”

Clint gives them both an over the top shrug and a haughty grin before agreeing to a game of two on one. For a few minutes, Steve watches. It’s nice to see Bucky the way Steve knows he can be. Smiles and laughter. Playful and teasing. He giggles when Natasha pokes his sides and roughs around when Clint pulls him into headlocks. 

As the game goes on -- with Clint immediately on the losing side -- and Steve watches on and off, he notices something: Bucky’s different somehow. Steve can’t quite put his finger on what it is. This isn’t the first time he’s spotted Bucky with his friends in the student center. He _usually_ looks like the Bucky he knows. Big, arrogant smile on his face. Laughing like he’s said some wiseass comment. But today, when Bucky’s friends aren’t paying attention, Bucky looks like he might want to cry. Like maybe he’s screaming and no one is paying any attention to him. Except for Natasha. Who seems to have caught the expression Steve’s noticed more than once. And always slips an arm across his waist. Bucky just rests his head on her shoulder and closes his eyes for a minute or two. 

Steve has a constant urge to apologize whenever he sees it. He’s just not sure what to apologize for. 

He busy trying to pay closer attention to his work instead of Bucky and his friends when he hears Clint start to grumble that the teams aren’t fair. To which he gets laughed at by Bucky and Natasha. Clint insists that they both know he’s so much better than this. That this is an off day. They ignore him. And the game goes on. 

They’re still bickering about something as Steve continues to try and concentrate on how his exhibit should be arranged, when suddenly he hears his name being called. 

“Hey, maybe Steve’ll do it. Steve!”

Steve looks up to see the three of them have paused in the middle of their game, and Clint is looking over at him, while Bucky looks at Clint completely horrified.

“ _Clint_ ,” Bucky mutters. “What’re you —”

“Hey, I need someone on my team,” Clint interrupts. “You guys are buddies. How bout it, Steve? Think you can keep up with these whippersnappers?”

“Aren’t you, what?” Steve ask, snickering. “About a minute older than them?” 

“Yo, man, older is older. So?”

Although Steve would like nothing more than a chance to spend some time goofing around with Bucky -- even more than that, a chance to do so with Bucky’s friends as well -- one glance at Bucky himself and he’s not so sure it’s a good idea. Bucky’s chewing on the inside of his cheek and bouncing his knee, and staring at anything he can as long as that doesn’t include letting his eyes fall on Steve. Natasha just watches Bucky the whole time. Like she’ll support whatever he wants to do. 

“Uh, I…” _Now_ Bucky looks at him and Steve still can’t really get a good read on him. “I dunno if that’s a good idea.”

“Yeah, Clint,” Natasha states. “Besides, it’s not _our_ fault your so-called mad skills don’t live up to the hype.”

“Uh-oh,” Steve says. “Are your _mad skills_ not what they should be, Clint?”

His statement gets the reaction he wanted. Sort of. Clint gives him quite the scandalized look while Bucky holds in a smile. But Natasha… Natasha laughs. Steve might not know her well, or really at all, but making her laugh, for some reason, feels like a sort of accomplishment. 

“Burn,” she murmurs.

“Aw, man.” Clint sighs and hangs his head. “I get it from the young _and_ the old. No one feels me.”

“That sounds like a personal problem,” Steve comments, and much to his delight, makes Natasha laugh again. 

This time, his statement gets Clint’s jaw to drop and Bucky to crack up. Bucky. He’s made Bucky laugh. The way he used to. Full body and red-cheeked.

“I thought you said he was a nice guy,” Clint grumbles. 

“Eh.” Bucky shrugs then props himself up against his pool cue. “Guy’s got his moments.”

“He’s got my vote to join us,” Natasha says. It takes quite a lot of self control not to do a dance right there at her approval. Even if it’s only temporary. “That is, if Clint still wants him on his team.”

“I guess beggars can’t be choosers,” Clint concedes. “What do you say, Steve? We can start a new game.”

“I dunno, you guys,” Bucky states. Eyes actually on Steve. Crooked smile on his lips. “All that bending and moving around? Might be too strenuous for this grandpa narc.”

Steve’s heart beats twice as hard. That right there -- the teasing, the cute smirk, the nickname -- that was an invitation to join them. He knows it. 

Curling his lips, Steve slams his notebook shut and cracks his knuckles. He’s looking right at Bucky when he says, “Rack ‘em up, kid.”

Turns out none of them expect Steve to be as good as he is, and Clint is soaking it all in. Quick to give Steve high-fives and take jabs at Bucky and Natasha. 

More important than that is the way Bucky’s acting. He’s so much more like the Bucky that used to come over on Thursdays — not in the very beginning; it takes a bit of playing first. But after a little while, Bucky stops avoiding being on the same side of the table as Steve. He stops only talking to Natasha and Clint. He stops holding himself so still and stiff. 

Then the laughs start coming more freely. As does the subtle teasing and playful remarks. Bucky even “accidentally” bumps his hip into Steve’s while Steve is taking a shot. Joke’s on him though. Steve doesn’t sink the ball he was aiming for, but that one hit into another of his and _that_ one goes in. Bucky’s jaw falls. Steve gives him a smirk to which Bucky jabs him in the shoulder and tells him to shut up. 

“Dunno what you’re so excited about,” Natasha remarks when Clint makes another jeer in their direction. “Steve’s the one doing all the work.”

It’s true. While Clint is pretty good at moving the balls around, he hasn’t sunk one yet and the table’s almost cleared of solids. He was actually doing much better on his own. 

“Hey!” he exclaims. “Winning is winning!”

Bucky is suddenly at Steve’s side. Again. Because he no longer -- at least while playing a game of pool -- seems to have an aversion to being near him. He starts poking at Steve’s ribs and waist and arms. 

“What’re you doing?” Steve asks. 

“Checking you,” he mumbles. “You gotta be cheating. No way an old man like you is this good at pool.”

“Cheating, huh?” Steve replies. “Cheating. I’ll show you cheating.”

The position they’re in makes it easy for Steve to get Bucky pinned up against the side of the pool table and start digging his fingers right into Bucky’s sides. Running them up and down his ribs like not a day has passed since he’s done it last. 

“Steve!” Bucky squeaks. “Okay! You’re not cheating! You’re not cheating!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says and eases up so he can put some space between them again. “That’s what I thought.”

Rather than just letting Steve move away -- which is what Steve figures Bucky will do -- he’s suddenly throwing himself at him and wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist like he intends on trying to drag him down. While it does make Steve stumble back a bit, he quickly gets the upperhand again and digs fingers back into Bucky’s sides. Makes Bucky screech and practically drop to his knees in his haste to get away. Bucky’s breathless, his cheeks are pink, and his hair’s now all messy, but there’s a huge smile on his face as he straightens back up. 

“I hate you so much,” Bucky mutters. “I have no idea why we’re friends.”

“Uh-huh.” Steve can’t help the smile that pulls up when Bucky says that. “Are you gonna take a shot? Or are you just gonna keep accusing me of cheating since you’re so bad?”

Bucky scoffs, but leans over the table to line up a shot. With Bucky positioned like that, Steve is very tempted to give his ass a slap like he’s done so many times before. He holds back though. Even though he’s seen Natasha do it, it doesn’t feel right. Bucky and Natasha have a special bond. So do Bucky and Clint. Really, Steve wouldn’t be surprised if he saw Clint give Bucky the same sort of slap. But Steve and Bucky? They’re friends — and might finally be able to be that way — but not those kinds of friends. Steve doesn’t want to make this uncomfortable. Not when things might be heading in a pretty good direction. 

Instead of doing that, Steve places one hand on Bucky’s wrist and the other on his hip to guide him into a slightly different position. 

“Relax,” Steve murmurs. “Ease the tension out of your shoulders.” Bucky does that. “Good…” He bites back adding _boy_. “Now, try it that way.”

Bucky does. And not only sinks one ball, but two. His eyes light up and he gasps through a huge, excited grin. 

“Oh!” he exclaims as he jumps back up. “Look what I did, Nat!”

“Very cool,” she answers. There’s a tight smile on her lips. Same with the look in her eyes when she glances at Steve. He’s not really sure what he’s done to warrant such a look, but he takes a step away from Bucky. 

“What the hell, man!” Clint gripes. “You’re not supposed to help them! They’re the _enemy_!”

“Oh,” Steve says as he watches the ball Natasha’s just hit bounce off the side of the pocket it was headed for. “Right.” He takes his shot and sinks the last solid ball left. “Better?”

“Aw, _yeah_!” Clint pumps a fist in the air. “That’s what I’m talking about.” He high fives Steve and slaps his hand down on the corner pocket he’s by to call his shot. “Left corner pocket!” 

However, Clint doesn’t move around to take the shot. Which would make sense given the positions of the eight and cue balls. Instead, he stays right where he is and casually hits the cue to make it bounce off each side of the table before it smacks into the eight ball and it sinks right into the pocket Clint called. He turns with a cool grin on his lips and shrug of his hands. 

“Barton, you _dick_ ,” Bucky snaps. “Did you just hustle us?”

“Hustling would imply that I cheated you out of money,” Clint says. “You know I got mad skills. Besides, did _you_ have fun?”

“Yeah, I…” Bucky trails off and glances down at his feet. “Oh.” He peeks back up at Clint and gives him a pursed smirk. “You really are a dick.”

“Is he now.” Natasha rests an elbow on Bucky’s shoulder. “Hm?”

Bucky sighs and sort of whines as he leans against Natasha. Realizing he’s now found himself inside a private moment between the three of them, Steve starts to back away. It’s close enough to the start of class that he should leave anyway.

“I should, uh, get going,” he says. Picks up his book bag and slings it over his shoulder. “This was fun. Thanks for asking me to join you guys.”

“Hey, wait!” Steve looks back to see Bucky grabbing his notebook and hustling over to him. “I’ll walk with you. If…” He glances at Steve. “If that’s okay?”

“Of course it is,” Steve tells him. Tries to keep his excitement contained. This is the most time they’ve spent together in a month. Steve doesn’t want it to end. 

“Cool,” Bucky answers and they make their way through the crowded student center. 

The second they get outside, Steve is eyeing Bucky. All he’s got on today is that hooded sweatshirt and it’s even colder than Steve remembered. There’s puddles of slush around and patches of ice and, to add insult to injury, it’s pretty windy. After being in the student center full of all those people it probably feels even colder. But Bucky just reaches into his front pocket to pull out his cigarettes. Which is probably why he misunderstands the look. 

“Do you…” His eyebrows stitch. “You don’t care, do you? We’re outside. You never said nothing about when we’re outside.”

“Oh, I don’t care,” Steve responds, and waits until Bucky pops the end of a cigarette into his mouth before adding, “I love seeing people suck poison into their bodies and blowing that poison out into the air.”

Bucky’s lips scrunch into a playful scowl around the cigarette and he slowly raises his hand to pull it back out. With a huff, he shoves it back in its pack.

“ _Fine_ ,” he grunts. “I’ll _wait_.”

Steve chuckles and nudges their shoulders. “It’s okay; go ahead.”

“Nah, that’s alright. Now I got a health lecture hangin’ over my head. I’ll have one when that disappears.”

“How long will that take?”

Bucky shrugs. “Dunno. How long do you think it’ll take to get to our building?”

Steve snorts and rolls his eyes while Bucky snickers at his own little joke. For a second, Steve is worried they might slip into an uncomfortable silence, which would be horrible since most of the silences they’ve shared in the past _haven’t_ been uncomfortable. Steve wants to ask Bucky how he’s been, but needs to ask in a way that doesn’t make it sound like they haven’t talked for a month. 

“So, how’s Sharon?” Bucky surprises him by asking before he can say anything anyway. 

“Uh, she’s… she’s good.”

“What’s she in school for?”

Steve takes a sideward glimpse at him to see that Bucky’s face is calm and even. There’s nothing bitter there. Just genuine curiosity. 

“Criminal Justice.”

That makes Bucky’s eyebrows goes up and the corners of his lips twitch a bit. 

“Oh yeah?” He looks at Steve with a smirk. “She gonna arrest me?”

“Doubtful.” Steve chuckles. “She doesn't know anyway.”

“You didn’t tell her?”

“Of course not.”

Bucky looks away, and Steve’s stomach falls to his feet as he realizes how bad that sounds and how easily his words could be misconstrued.

“Hey,” Steve whispers. “ _Not_ because I’m embarrassed by you, Bucky.” Bucky’s attention shifts a bit back towards Steve again. “Not by you _or_ what you do. But it’s not my place to go around telling other people what you do for a living. Not without your permission anyway.”

A smile lifts on Bucky’s face. Slowly. Like what Steve’s said to him begins to sink in and drapes over him in some warm, kind way. 

“Okay?” Steve checks. Wants to make sure there’s no misunderstanding there. 

Bucky nods. A tiny, but noticeable motion.

“Okay.” It’s quiet for a few moments, when Bucky says, “She seems really nice.”

“Sharon?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “No, my mom.”

“I don’t know your mom.” He gets a shove in the side for that.

“Shut up, punk. Yes, Sharon.”

“She is nice.” Steve snickers. “I don’t know your friend Natasha well, but from what I _do_ know, they might get along.”

“Oh god.” Bucky pretends to shudder. “Maybe they should never get together. They might be unstoppable and take over the world.”

About to reply with something along the lines of _that might not be so bad_ , when Steve peeks over at him. The shudder that runs through Bucky this time is not a fabrication. Bucky’s shivering. Steve almost puts his arm around him to pull him close. Just an instinct. Like the few he had to fight back while playing pool before. But Bucky is still cold and Steve can’t just do nothing. He’s not built that way.

First thing that goes through his mind is offering his own jacket. He knows Bucky well enough though to know he probably won’t accept it. So when Bucky starts pulling his arms deep into his sweatshirt, Steve simply holds an arm out. Leaves it up to Bucky whether or not to accept the offer. After taking a quick glimpse at the arm being held out for him, he actually does. 

_There you go_ , Steve wants to say. 

Bucky fits himself against Steve, though he’s a little tense and stiff at first as Steve’s arm folds around him. When Steve rubs his hand quickly over him to make him a little warmer, he starts to loosen up. Snuggles against him a bit.

“It’s freezing out,” Steve comments. “Why aren’t you wearing a jacket?”

Smothering his face into Steve’s jacket, Bucky lets out a groan. “I dunno. I didn’t think it’d be _this_ cold.”

“Well, we’re almost there. But I’m afraid if you’re gonna suck on your cancer sticks you’re gonna have to do it without your space heater.”

“ _What_?” Bucky whines. “You’re really gonna let me _freeze_? All by _myself_?”

“You don’t have to have the cigarette.”

“But I _do_! Addiction is defined as the state of compulsive engagement of rewarding stimuli, despite adverse consequences.”

His answer to Steve’s statement actually stumps Steve a bit. Not that he didn’t already know the meaning of addiction, it’s just the way Bucky’s worded it. So formal and proper. 

“Did you… do you have that memorized?” Steve questions. 

“Have what memorized?”

“The definition of addiction?”

“No,” Bucky snickers. “I just know what it means. Don’t you know what it means?”

“Yes, I know what it means. I just…” He scoffs and jostles Bucky a bit under his arm. “You’re too smart for your own good, kid. Alright, alright. If you want to smoke a cigarette before class, I’ll keep you warm.”

“Fuck yes!” Bucky does a little victory dance, still in Steve’s embrace. “You’re the best, Stevie. But I ain’t gonna make you do that. Not with your asthma and shit.”

“Aren’t you the sweetest.”

“I know. I’m the best. Where would you be without me.”

 _Where indeed_. 

The truth is, Bucky’s done so much for Steve. Filled up something inside of him that Steve didn’t even realize was empty or missing. No matter what happens, Steve will never regret his time with him.

They’ve reached their building with plenty of time to spare before class starts. Some people are lingering outside, huddled under the small awning as they try to quickly suck down smokes before heading inside. Steve plans on going right by them, but can’t when Bucky’s arms clasp around his waist.

“Bucky?” Steve wonders if maybe he’s changed his mind about having that cigarette. “Did you--”

But instead of moving to light one, Bucky quickly buries his face deep into Steve’s side and mumbles something so quietly, Steve’s sure he’s not actually meant to hear it let alone understand it. 

“I miss you.”

He isn’t supposed to hear that — he knows he isn’t. So he doesn’t answer, no matter how badly he wants to. It just sits on his tongue like a dead weight. 

_I’m right here, sweet boy. I’m not going anywhere._

It wouldn’t be a lie either. Sure, they’ve changed things about their relationship, but this is a promise Steve will always keep. He’ll keep Bucky warm and he’ll wipe away his tears and he’ll hug him and he’ll hold him if he’s lonely. Maybe Steve is playing with fire, but he’s very willing to get burned. 

None of that gets said though. He simply puts his arms around Bucky to hug him before Bucky tries to pull away — which he does just seconds later. He clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck, then opens the door. Without a word, they walk in together.

Class goes on in its normal fashion. Well, in its normal _new_ fashion. Bucky sits next to Steve taking notes. Diligently, like he’s been doing all semester. Today, however, that must get too boring for him since, just thirty minutes into the lecture, Bucky begins to fidget.

His knee starts to bounce. Unlike their previous classes this semester, his gaze starts to wander about the room. He taps his pen against his notebook. Even starts clicking it opened and closed over and over again. 

“Will whoever’s doing that please desist?” Professor McCoy requests when the little clicks reach him at the front of the room. 

Realizing he must be talking about him, Bucky gives a tight smile and drops the pen onto the table with a sigh. Professor McCoy goes on with the lesson and Steve glances over at Bucky. It only takes a second for Bucky to notice him staring. His cheeks turn pink when he does and he picks the pen back up.

“Sorry,” he murmurs and goes back to taking notes. 

Okay, so maybe it’s not the playful jesting that went on last semester. With Bucky pushing and easily being himself when he got bored, and Steve able to pull him back to a place of concentration with a few firm words and steely looks. But this is leaps and bounds compared to the last few weeks of awkward tension. 

It’s amazing what a simple game of pool can do.

“So,” Bucky says when class is over and he seats himself up on the lab table. Seems this is a day of firsts. Since this is the first time in weeks that Bucky hasn’t just left after class with either a muttered farewell or a smile and a wave. “Your, um, your exhibit is soon, right? Like, this week?”

Touched that Bucky has not only remembered that, but has also taken an interest in asking about it, Steve can feel his stomach flutter happily. 

“Yeah. Friday, actually.”

“Are you excited?” Bucky’s legs are swaying back and forth. One after the other, and he’s got his palms planted firmly on the edge of the table. 

“Actually, I kinda feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

Bucky grins and shakes his head. “Nah, I bet you’re gonna slay.”

“Slay?” Steve chuckles.

“Yeah. You know. Knock ‘em dead. And stuff.” He clears his throat and nibbles on his lip. Bucky glances down at his lap. “So… what does someone have to do to… I dunno… see this art thing at some point or something?”

Heart swelling several sizes, Steve’s hand trembles as he reaches for his bag. There’s something that’s been sitting in there for weeks now. Something he never thought he’d work up the nerve to give to whom he’d intended for. 

“Well, opening night is invitation only,” he explains. “So I had a few of those to give out.”

Three to be precise. Steve’s allowed to have a guest, which is Sharon. His very own plus one. Two invitations went straight to Sam and Tony. Each are invited with a guest, which means Maria and Pepper are coming as well, and that makes things even better. 

There’s one left. One invitation that’s sitting in Steve’s book bag and it literally has Bucky’s name on it. Written out across the envelope in Steve’s handwriting. Bucky being there would make the night complete. But Steve’s been terrified to even bring up the idea to him, let alone present him with the invitation. 

“Oh yeah?” Bucky comments. “Will there be champagne and caviar?”

The question’s asked with a very exaggerated, and not at all well executed British accent. But it does make Steve chuckle as he reaches into his bag. If it’s going to happen, it’s going to happen now.

“Champagne, yes. Caviar? I doubt it. Maybe cheese and crackers.”

Bucky snickers. “How terribly American,” he teases. “Champagne with cheese and crackers with all your best friends.”

His voice gets a little hard when he says that. Something, Steve thinks, Bucky doesn’t mean to let happen. 

“Well…” Steve pulls out the envelope with the invitation meant for him. “Almost all my best friends.” 

Eyes wide, Bucky just stares at the envelope. His legs have gone totally still and his hands clench tightly around the side of the table. So tight his knuckles turn white. He’s looking at it the same way he looked at the collar on Christmas. Like he’s afraid.

“Is that…” His voice barely comes out. “Is that for me?” 

He still hasn’t moved to take the thing from Steve. 

Steve looks at it and then back at Bucky, worried that maybe this was a bad idea after all.

“Well, it has your name on it,” he says. 

“I see that.” It’s so quiet in the room. So still. Bucky still hasn’t moved and his eyes are set on the envelope. “Th-this Friday?” Bucky whispers after a few very long minutes. 

“Yeah.”

Bucky looks up. Finally tearing his gaze off the envelope and looking at Steve. He cracks something of a smile.

“I dunno, Steve.” That nervous grin shifts to a smirk. “It’s really short notice. I’d have to rearrange my _whole_ schedule and let _so_ many people down. This is a real inconvenience, y’know.”

“Yeah, alright,” Steve chuckles. He’s not going to get much further with this. Bucky’s nervous and feeling awkward, and this has been a pretty decent afternoon together, so neither of them want to ruin that. Bucky uses humor when he doesn’t know what else to do. 

“I’m just going to put this right here.” Steve puts the envelope down on the desk. Right next to Bucky. “It’s got a plus one so you can bring Natasha if you’d like. Or Clint or whoever you want.” Without paying attention to what he’s doing, Steve places a hand on Bucky’s knee. “I hope you’ll come. It’d mean a lot if you were there.”

Bucky hides that smile of his. It’s like Steve’s just called him a good boy. Only he’s glowing even brighter. Still, Bucky glances down to where Steve’s put his hand and gently guides it off. Steve rolls his fingers in and tries to keep in mind that just because today’s going well doesn’t mean that everything will jump to being okay. Bucky might never be fully okay with Steve’s casual touches. 

“I’ll, uh…” Bucky clears his throat like he’s getting choked up. “I’ll see if I can make it.”

“Okay,” Steve whispers. He gathers his things and stands to leave. Bucky’s still sitting on the desk. “I won’t be here on Wednesday.”

“You won’t?”

“No. I have an excused absence for the rest of the week to get things finished up for this weekend. So… hopefully I’ll see you there. If not, I’ll… I’ll understand. And I’ll see you next week.”

“Yeah, uh, if I, um…” Bucky scratches the back of his head. “If I can’t make it, good luck. I’m sure it’ll be really great.”

“Thanks, Buck. I’ll see you later.”

Bucky just nods to that. Steve waits a heartbeat or two before walking away. He’s just reached the door when he can’t help taking one last peek over at Bucky. What he sees makes him smile. Bucky’s slowly reaching down next to him. And picking up the invitation. 

***

Sharon looks incredible. Gorgeous in that sleeveless black dress, hair done up with little tendrils at the sides. Steve is unprepared. For a heartbeat, he forgets why they’re even here. 

“Wow,” he murmurs, eyes glued to her as he passes his coat over to the coat-check. “You… Sharon, you look incredible.”

She looks over herself quickly and glances back up at him with a smile. Face shining brightly and just a hint of a blush touching her cheeks. Steve’s not sure he’s ever actually made her blush before.

“Thank you, Steve,” she says. Brushes her hand along the skirt of her dress to keep it flat. “You look pretty incredible yourself.”

Steve’s wearing a three piece suit that Tony took him out to get. He’d insisted that Steve be in something sleek and new for tonight. Which, of course, meant going to Tony’s personal tailor where Steve stood in silence while they fussed over him, measuring him for a charcoal-gray, three piece suit. With the added silver tie and white shirt, it _does_ looks sleek. 

“Thank you.” He chuckles and almost forgets not to run his fingers through his styled hair. “We make quite a _dashing_ pair, don’t we?”

“Indeed,” Sharon replies with a playful lift of her chin. “Shall we, Mr. Rogers?” 

She hooks her arm with his and gestures to the room they’re supposed to be going into. There’s a sign in front that’s letting everyone know what they’re headed towards: 

_Scott Summer’s Presents: Transformations -- A Look into the Heart and Soul of Change_

Steve stops after only a single step towards the open doors. The gallery is just in there. Guests haven’t been let in yet, but all the artists, and Scott and people from the museum are in there. 

And the room Steve’s in suddenly spins around him in a quick, blinding motion. 

“Steve?” Sharon asks. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I just…” Steve takes in a deep breath. Lets the panic wash over him for just a moment before releasing it and glancing at Sharon. “I’m okay. 

He is. Everything is going to be just fine. Sharon is with him now and Sam will be there soon and so will Tony. Maybe Bucky will show up or maybe he… well, Steve doesn’t really want to think of the alternative. If Bucky doesn’t show, Steve would much rather just pretend that he’s too busy. Some last minute responsibility that he needs to take care of and not because he doesn’t want to be here. 

“Okay,” he whispers. “Let’s go.”

“It’s going to be great, Steve,” Sharon murmurs. Tugs a bit on his arm so that she can add a quick kiss to his cheek. “I can’t wait to see it.”

Touching the spot that she’s kissed, Steve feels a little more confident, and they go into the showroom together. 

They’re greeted by a whirlwind of art and in so many various mediums. There’s photography and sculptures and realism and surrealism, all depicting different types of transformations that a person might experience through life. One display is named “The Circle”. The paintings are all arranged as such and depict a person’s life from birth all the way till death. It’s actually unclear whether it starts with the death or starts with the birth. A photographer’s exhibit is titled “Depression”, and has several photographs of different people, all expressing different emotions -- sad, angry, happy, tired, love. Under each picture is a caption that says “this is what depression looks like”. Another display is called “Hope”, and Steve quickly steers them away from that one.

“Not yet,” he mumbles when Sharon asks what he’s doing. “Champagne first.”

Sharon chuckles, but doesn’t argue as Steve takes her towards the bar and away from his exhibit. The rest of the guests will be allowed in in just a few minutes. Steve is supposed to be at his display when the doors officially open, but he needs a drink first. 

Taking two flutes off the bar, Steve hands one to Sharon and then quickly brings his to his lips. He might drink the whole thing if Sharon’s hand doesn’t touch his wrist. Reminds him again that everything is going to be fine. Instead of chugging the champagne, Steve just sips it. As they stand there waiting, Steve attempts at making small talk, but can’t think of anything to say. So he just listens to Sharon who takes the lead and talks about anything but the art show. She tells Steve about her ex-husband and how, when they were first married, they lived in a studio apartment and that first winter their heating went out. So to help keep her warm, he decided to try to make soup using whatever ingredients they had in their kitchen. Which resulted in, according to Sharon, a pot full of sludge that paint water would taste better than. 

“What?” Steve laughs. “It couldn’t have been _that_ bad!”

“Oh, I assure you, it was that bad.” She shakes her head with a chuckle. Sharon makes a face like she can recall the taste that clearly. “I never wanted to let him into the kitchen again.”

“What the hell did he put in there?”

“Do you need to know any more than ketchup?”

Steve bursts out laughing. Even when he didn’t know how to make anything more complicated than tunafish, he’s pretty sure he’d’ve done a better job than that.

He’s still in the middle of laughing when Scott comes over. Tells him it’s time to let the rest of the guests in. Everything stops being funny as Steve glances over at his exhibit. The only one without an artist next to it. 

“You’re gonna do fine, Steve,” Sharon murmurs. Adds a soft pat to his back. “Go on.”

With that last bit of encouragement, Steve walks over to his display just as a sea of people begin to shuffle in through the doors. Staff is already moving through with silver trays of hors d'oeuvres and drinks. Chatter softly fills the once very quiet room as Scott welcomes and greets people. Guests start to mill about, moving from exhibit to exhibit, and chatting amongst themselves as they inch closer and closer to Steve. He fixes his tie even though he knows there’s nothing wrong with it and glances to where he last saw Sharon. She’s no longer there and now there are people actually approaching his display. Pointing towards it and already whispering comments. Words too soft to be heard by far away ears. Steve can only hold his breath. 

They smile politely when they reach him and Steve thinks he gets his mouth to cooperate and grin back at them, but he can’t be sure. They’ve stopped in front of the first painting there. The tree. Swirls of twisted and bare branches curling together as they droop towards the ground. Where colors shift from dark and shadowed to bright and lively. Greens and blues and golds below spreading to the browns and greys and black above. Life being pumped back into the fresh, healthy roots of the tree. 

It’s abstract. Well, all his pieces are, but Steve knows he’s taken a chance with the style. Thought it was best to give it a shot when learning the theme of the show. 

“Lovely,” a woman remarks. She circles her finger where the colors begin to change. “Look at the use of shading. It’s beautiful.”

The air trapped in Steve’s lungs comes rushing out so quickly it makes his head spin as a surge of excitement runs through him. Hard part’s over. 

***

“I still can’t get over it,” Sharon says. Eyes still sparkling as they run over Steve’s art again. “It’s just breathtaking.” 

“Didn’t know how talented this guy was, did ya?” Sam asks. Jostles Steve a bit as he does. “Mr. Humble over here.”

The evening shimmers around Steve in glitz and glammer. Champagne bubbles and works of art, all surrounded by some of his closest friends. People have actually bid on his work. He almost couldn’t believe it when the first bid came in. Steve was holding his breath again until they walked away and, once he thought it was safe, let it out with a giddy laugh. 

Not everyone has been a fan. Some people have wandered over and muttered quietly to themselves or made an uninterested face. One even commented on not liking Steve’s technique. He’s taken the criticism as best as he can. Which means he keeps a polite smile on his face and ignores the pounding of his heart and the little voice that tells him he’s not good until the next person comes along. 

“I knew he was talented,” Sharon answers Sam. Adds a smirk in Steve’s direction. “But he never let me see just _how_ talented.”

“Eh,” Tony mutters. “He’s okay, I guess. If you like abstract.” Pepper’s swift slap across his shoulder has him laughing and mumbling an apology. “Okay, okay. Sorry. Good job, big guy.” He holds his glass of champagne up in a toast. His eyebrows flick up until Steve clicks his own flute against his. “You deserve it.”

Steve chuckles into the flute as he brings it to his lips and takes a drink. As he does, his eyes wander over the crowd again. Only to return to his friends with that trickle of disappointment he feels every time he doesn’t see Bucky. He should be used to it by now. 

“Thanks so much for being here you guys,” Steve says. Remembers that even though Bucky isn’t there, he’s still with people he loves. “It means so much to me.”

“Of course, Steve,” Pepper replies. She gives his shoulder a squeeze and gestures to Tony. “This one wouldn’t shut up about how proud he was of you.”

“ _What_?” Tony exclaims. “Lies. All lies.”

“And here comes Pepper,” Maria chuckles and high-fives her. “Driving the bus that Tony’s now under.”

Tony grumbles to himself and continues on saying how it’s an outrageous lie. That he won’t stand for such slander. 

“It’s alright, Tony.” Steve claps his hand over Tony’s back. “I know you’re crazy about me.”

With a roll of his eyes, Tony swipes up another glass of champagne from a waitress walking by, quickly exchanging Steve’s now empty one for that one. 

“I think you need some more of that,” Tony comments. “You’re talking nonsense anyway.”

“Always the charmer,” Pepper sighs. “Man who thinks he’s made out of iron.” She pokes a finger into his belly. “But we all know you’re a big softy under that suit.”

Tony scoffs. “Alright, enough about me!”

“Isn’t it always about you?” Sam asks.

“Hey!” Tony exclaims. Then concedes the point with a rueful nod. “I must’ve missed the memo that said it was Harp on Tony Night.”

“Wait, you did?” Steve remarks. He looks at everyone else and sees them already trying to hold in laughs. “I sent it out. Didn’t you get one?”

Narrowing his eyes, Tony points a finger at him. “You know what, Rogers…”

Steve bursts out laughing and pulls Tony in for a hug. While he’s not quite swimming in champagne, he can’t say he’s not at least in the shallow end of things. So his body is buzzing a bit and he misses Bucky and wishes he was here, but he’s still happy. Happy that Sharon has stayed by his side since making her way over to his display. Happy that Sam is next to him, laughing, while Maria chuckles and loops their arms. Happy that Pepper’s lit up with a smile and Tony is wrapped up in his arms for a sloppy hug. 

“Okay, knock it off, ya big lug,” Tony says as he pushes away from Steve. “Are we done now? Can we go back to praising Steve for this _brilliant_ showcase?”

“Yes, let’s,” Maria agrees. “It’s fun to make Steve blush.”

“Aw shucks.” Steve tries to pull off some sort of nonchalance, but she is right. He’s pretty sure he’s blushed every time one of them has complimented his pieces. “You’re too kind.”

“No, but…” Sam steps back a bit and points to one of Steve’s paintings. One of the ones he almost didn’t do. “I think this one is my favorite.”

As predicted, Steve’s face fills with a soft blush. Still, the fact that the compliment goes to that particular piece has Steve warm all over. It means a lot to him. This one is of someone standing over a burial plot, hand resting on top of the stone. The whole painting is black and white except for the flowers blooming around the person, and making a trail of life behind them -- a path away from grief. The name of the painting is _Sarah_. One of the three that are not for sale. 

“I like this one the best,” Sharon says and waves to the one called _Home_.

Both Maria and Pepper seem to agree the piece is their favorite as well. Another one that almost didn’t get made. Steve’s now glad that Scott talked him into it. Into the piece with a road surrounded by tall buildings that reach up to the evening sky and a group of friends walking in the distance. That one’s not for sale either. 

“You really have a lot of talent, Steve,” Pepper comments as she once again looks over the painting. “Some day we’ll all be saying we knew you when.”

Steve groans softly -- smiles, too -- into his glass as he takes another drink and thanks her. He lets his eyes wander about the room again and, to hide the fact the he’s looking _for_ something — or someone — in particular, asks the passing waiter for a strawberry. It has chocolate drizzled across it. No cheese and crackers, though. There’s sliced up fruit and stuffed portobello mushrooms and even mini shrimp, but no cheese and crackers. No Bucky either. 

Swallowing the disappointment back down again, Steve gives his attention back to his friends. They haven’t moved past trying to make him blush yet. An easy task considering every little compliment right now has him beet red and biting back silly grins, and just all toasty inside. 

“Aw man,” Steve chuckles and ducks his head down. “With friends like these, right?”

“Where would you be?” Sam laughs as he nudges his fist into Steve’s shoulder. Gives Steve a goofy smile. “Eh? Right?”

From next to him, Steve can feel Sharon step up close and laugh at Sam’s silly gestures. Steve puts an arm around her and looks out at his little group of friends as he attempts to keep his thoughts from straying back to the one thing that’s keeping the evening from being perfect. Maybe it’s not perfect, but this is as close as it’s going to get. For that, Steve’s forever grateful.

“Guys, I…” Steve takes in a deep breath, releasing it through a smile. He gives his head a shake and groans as he tries to gather his thoughts. “Thank you.” That’s not even close to the feelings he’d like to express, but those are the only words he seems capable of saying. “Um, it’s just…” And now tears begin to cloud his eyes and Steve has no idea where they’re coming from. “I really don’t think I’d have made it this far without you guys. And, uh…” He needs to clear his throat so his voice doesn’t crack. “Just… you mean so much to me.” He tosses up a saucy grin. “Even you, Tony.”

Tony scoffs among the chuckles and says, “ _Especially_ me, is what I think you meant.”

“Ah,” Steve snickers and waves his hand towards Tony. “I stand corrected.” Tony flashes that million dollar grin of his. “I mean it, though.There’s not much that could make…”

A flash of red hair across the room catches Steve’s attention, and he immediately cranes his neck for a better look, only to have the sea of people block his chance of confirming who it might be. 

“Uh, Steve?” Sam questions. “You there?”

“Looks like we’ve lost him,” Maria teases.

When Sharon pokes his arm, Steve tears his eyes away from where he possibly spotted Natasha. He shakes his head and pulls up a smile. 

“Sorry. Uh, there’s not much…” His eyes move to that spot, and there’s that red head again. He can only catch glimpses of the back of her with all the people who keep getting in the way.

“Steve?” Sharon asks as Steve slips his arm away from her waist. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I…” Steve’s legs act of their own accord and start moving away from his exhibit and from his friends before he even notices. “Hang on. I’ll be right back.”

The place is a lot more crowded than he realized. Or maybe it’s just because he’s trying to make his way through a sea of bodies without pushing or shoving like he’d do if it was acceptable. Steve mumbles _excuse me_ as he move through, gently trying to guide people out of his path. 

When he finally makes his way through the crowd, Steve ends up just a few feet from a sculpture display -- a sleeping child with her head on a book, teddy bear snuggled in her arms and surrounded by fairy tale creatures. Steve’s pretty sure this exhibit is called _In Dreams_. At least, that’s what he thinks he remembers when he looked at it before. Right now though, Steve doesn’t care about the art. All he can stare at are the two people standing in front of it. 

A grin pulls up on Steve’s mouth. Right there, just a few feet away, are Bucky and Natasha. For some reason, he can no longer seem to go any further. Get any closer. Instead of running up to Bucky like he wants to, Steve just stands there. Watches him as he points something out to Natasha who nods, and from Steve’s angle he can see that she smiles.

The crowd around Steve starts to shuffle about a bit as people continue to move through the gala. He shifts to avoid blocking anyone, and when he does, Natasha flicks her gaze to him. She smirks at him, then nudges Bucky with her elbow. When she simply jerks her chin in Steve’s direction, Bucky follows her gaze and spots Steve. The second they lock eyes, Bucky gives him that soft, nervous smile of his, and Steve melts a little inside. 

Now that Bucky is looking at him, Steve is overcome with so much excitement, without even thinking, he rushes over and just wraps him up in a tight hug Steve can hear Bucky’s gasp. It’s probably not the smartest thing to do. Steve is crossing a line that Bucky’s drawn… or redrawn. Either way, there’s a line between them and the affection Steve wants so badly to give, but Steve just can’t help himself right now. 

“You came,” Steve whispers as he lifts Bucky up a little and then sets him back down. “You’re here.”

“Yeah.” Bucky chuckles. A little strained and awkward, but he does chuckle. “I, uh, rearranged a few things. Y’know, so…” 

Brain finally catching up to the knowledge that he really shouldn’t be holding Bucky this way, Steve finally releases his hold. But as he takes a step back, he gets proper look at Bucky, and his entire mouth goes dry. 

Bucky’s wearing a suit for the occasion. White shirt with a thin, black tie and a black waistcoat. This isn’t the first time Steve’s seen him in a suit, but there’s just something about Bucky tonight that catches Steve off guard. It’s not like what he usually wears. Clothes that fit snug around his body, but the suit hugs him perfectly. Shows off just enough of his tight curves while leaving that last bit to the imagination. Bucky’s gelled his hair so that it parts to the left, but there’s one strand that falls right across his brow. His eyes sparkle in the lighting here. Bright as ice glistening in the sea. 

“What?” Bucky asks. Starts checking his clothes for something that might be out of place. “Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?”

Staring, is more like it. Steve can’t take his eyes off of him. Bucky looks like an angel, a ray of sunlight, and all the other clever heavenly cliches. 

“Look… look at you,” Steve blurts as though it should be obvious. “You look… you look beautiful, Bucky.” 

As soon as the words fall clumsily from Steve’s mouth, Bucky drops his eyes down to his feet to hide his smile. Scratching at the back of his neck, Bucky peers back up at him through his lashes. 

“Thanks,” he whispers, and then shoots Steve a haughty grin. “Just something I had, y’know, lying around.” He chuckles when Steve snorts, but before anything else can be said Bucky adds, “You… you look really nice.”

“Thank you, Bucky.” Steve glances over to where Natasha’s standing. Just a few inches from Bucky -- from Steve as well -- but it’s been hard to tell that anyone else is there with them at all. “Natasha,” he greets. “Thank you for coming. You look stunning.”

She really does. She looks exceptionally lovely in her velvet dress, emerald, that brings out the green of her eyes, and makes her hair look vibrant. 

“Thank you, Steve Rogers,” she says. Adds a bit of a smirk to the curl of her lips. “Unlike my Bucky over here, I did _not_ have it lying around.”

Bucky scoffs with a playful roll of his eyes when Natasha gives him a pat on the back. It makes Steve laugh. 

“Have you two been here long?” he asks. “Or did you… did you just get here?”

“No, we… uh…” Bucky shifts his weight a bit. “Like, fifteen minutes ago?” He glances at Natasha, who nods. “Sorry we’re late.”

“Oh no, no.” Steve shakes his head. “It’s fine.” Hell, they could have shown up with just five minutes left and Steve would still be floating. As it is, there’s just about an hour left to the show. “Have you seen the rest of the exhibit? Or is… is this the first…”

“Uh, well…” Bucky glances and points to the right of where they’re standing. “We were looking at those two.”

“Well, come on. I’ll take you around to the other exhibits.”

Steve’s aware that he’s sorta just left his friends in the lurch with no explanation as to where he was headed, but instead of going back over to them, he spins around and grabs hold of both Bucky and Natasha’s wrists to lead them to the next display. There’s really no specific order they’re meant to be viewed in, so he just takes them to the next closest one. When they get there, Steve realizes what he’s just done. 

What in the world was he thinking? Bucky’s already made it perfectly clear that he’s uncomfortable with most touches. Touches not initiated by him at least. And Natasha, well, Steve would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little intimidated by her. He’s pretty sure one right hook from her alone would knock him over. Releasing the gentle hold he’s had round their wrists, Steve turns around and tries to mumble an apology. 

“Um… I…” He shifts in his spot. “Sorry. I…”

“You’re excited,” Natasha says. There’s a bit of a purse to her lips, but she gives him a shrug like it’s completely understandable. “It’s alright.”

Bucky, however, is looking at Steve with an amused smirk on his face. 

“What?” Steve asks. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothin’,” Bucky replies. Lets out a little bit of that laugh he’s been holding onto. “You’re cute when you’re excited.”

A blush whispers through Steve’s cheeks. Probably not deep enough for anyone else to notice, but he feels it and lowers his head to hide it for a second. 

“Alright, alright,” he snickers. “I’m not the one on display.”

Bucky’s mouth opens like he’s got something to say to that. Probably a clever quip given the mischievous gleam in his eyes. Only instead of saying it, he snaps his mouth closed again and lets the words fade from his mind. Steve can see the idea slowly drift away as Bucky lets his eyes move from Steve to find the artwork behind him. 

They move from display to display, and while Steve attempts to give them both the same amount of attention, he can’t help but focus on Bucky each time they get to a new exhibit. Though they’ve never really discussed art in any detail, Steve knows that Bucky’s always interested in learning new things. 

He lights up at the wonders of the world around him. This type of art might not be his favorite, but it must fascinate him since he points out little details to Natasha at every display they visit. Each time he notices something, he gets excited enough that a big smile lights his face and he eagerly waves a finger at whatever it is. A color or a texture or a little image among images. 

Bucky even talks to Steve about the art. Soft and quiet at first, like he’s nervous about it. He’ll glance over his shoulder or tap Steve’s so he can make a comment. As they go on, Bucky starts to forget about being nervous and becomes more and more animated. Happy to ask questions -- _what type of style is this? what do you see when you look at this? do ya think the artist did that on purpose?_ His face becomes bright and cheery, close to the way he looked the afternoon Steve took him to see _Phantom_. 

Bucky’s chatting away with Natasha and chuckling a little with Steve. He picks at the hors d'oeuvres, keeping a watchful eye for the trays of strawberries. He’s already made friends with one of the young women serving them, and she smiles and giggles and makes a point to come back around to them several times. Each time she does, Bucky plucks a strawberry from her tray and nibbles on it, taking his time eating it while enjoying the evening. The fruit puts a reddish shine upon Bucky’s lips, and whenever he brings one back up to his mouth, Steve has to push the image of feeding them to Bucky out of his mind. 

“So.” Bucky sticks the very tip of his finger into his mouth to suck on the tiny bit of strawberry juice that’s on there. Steve doubts it’s done on purpose -- not this time anyway -- but it still does _things_ to his body. “If I’m not mistaken, I’m pretty sure you dragged us here to see some of _your_ doodles?”

Oh. That’s right. Steve glances back to where his exhibit and friends wait for him. It’s been about twenty minutes or so since he walked away, and as soon as he looks over there, he’s met with a few slightly confused expressions. 

“What’s the matter, Stevie?” Bucky teases. “You gettin’ cold feet?”

Those words hit Steve unexpectedly hard. A punch to the gut almost. When he peers over at Bucky, Steve sees that his face has paled some. He must remember, too. Remember, what feels like years ago, when Bucky said almost the same thing to him that first time they were ever together. 

Natasha, who probably doesn’t understand what happened, but can feel the sudden tension, places a hand on Bucky’s back. She rubs softly. Up and down in soothing, gentle motions. _He likes it_ , she said. _Says it calms him down_. Steve could just kiss her for being this good to Bucky. He deserves it. And so much more. 

Bucky’s mouth opens like he means to apologize, but Steve shakes his head. 

“It’s okay,” he whispers. No need to get all serious. This is a good night. Fun and filled with love and friends. “Do you… do you wanna see mine?”

For a second, Bucky still appears to be a bit frazzled by what just happened. But when Natasha whispers something in Russian, he lets out a deep breath and grins at her. 

“Well,” Bucky replies as he swipes up another strawberry from a passing tray. “I did come here for just the food, but I suppose I can spare some time for you.”

The statement comes out smooth and natural just like they used to, but there’s a quick struggle with the smirk Bucky usually delivers along with it. Like he’s not exactly sure how to punctuate the end of it. 

“You’re funny,” Steve remarks and gives him a playful purse of his lips. He wants Bucky to be able to joke around with him again. It doesn’t feel right when they can’t fool around like that. “Stay here then and enjoy your food.” It’s a risky gamble, but Steve flicks his eyes to Natasha. “Would _you_ like to see my exhibit, Natasha?”

“I would, actually,” she says with a defiant grin as she steps closer to Steve. “Lead the way.”

“Hey!” Bucky squeaks as they head off without him. “Okay, okay!” He catches up and stands on Steve’s other side. “I wanna see, too.”

“Oh, do you?” Steve continues playing because it feels nice and it feels right and he’ll take it for as long as he can. It must be okay, too, since Bucky takes a quick glimpse at him with that pouty face of his and nods. “Well, I _guess_ I can allow it.”

Bucky scowls. “I guess I can allow it,” he mutters, playfully mocking Steve. He chuckles then and twists his lips to keep from smiling too much. 

“What happened, man?” Sam asks when they’re close enough.

At the same time, Bucky tenses up again. Bucky’s a pro at meeting people and having them practically be his best friend in just a few minutes, but he’s already told Bucky that they’re his closest friends. That might make him nervous. 

Without thinking, again, Steve places his hand on Bucky’s back and rubs it the way Natasha did. The way Bucky likes. But unlike with Natasha, Bucky quickly moves away from the touch like it’s shocked him. The opposite of what Steve wants. 

“Sorry,” Steve whispers, then says it again, louder for his friends to hear. “Didn’t mean to disappear like that.”

“That’s, uh, okay.” Sam says, eyes falling between Steve and the two newcomers. “Where’d you go?”

“Oh, I had to round up a few stragglers.” Hoping the slight unease he unintentionally may have caused has passed, Steve winks at Bucky. Bucky answers that with a huffy roll of his eyes and a playful shake of his head. Looks like the air is all clear between them. “Everyone, this is Bucky and Natasha.” He gestures to both of them “Bucky and I are lab partners. We’ve, uh…” Steve glances to Bucky, who peers back at him. “Bucky and I have gotten to be really good friends.”

Bucky holds his gaze for just a breath or two before smiling at Steve and looking away to hold his hand up in a mild greeting. Fingers wiggling as he gives them a timid grin.

“Hi,” he murmurs, and then looks directly at Sharon. “Hey, Sharon. You, um, you look really nice.”

“Aw, thank you, Bucky,” she replies. “You look quite charming yourself.”

Everyone else gives polite greetings, and none of them seem to find anything unusual about the new additions. Except for Sam. He looks a little confused, but still just says hello as Steve introduces them all by name. 

“Uh oh,” Bucky whispers from next to him as Sharon greets Natasha. “They’ve met. We’re doomed.”

Glancing over at him, Steve snickers and nudges him with his elbow. Bucky giggles and pushes right back. Just a quick, playful move, and he’s all smiles when he does it. 

“Wow, Steve Rogers,” Natasha says. Pulls Steve out of this private moment with Bucky and back into a museum full of people. “Did you really do this?”

She’s pointing to the paintings they’re all gathered in front of, and before Steve can answer, she steps closer to the nearest one. The tree. 

Now that she’s called attention to the work, everyone starts looking at them again. Sharon steps up next to Natasha to comment on just how surprised she’d been to see how talented Steve was. Of course, overhearing this only makes Steve blush some more, which Maria notices and points out. 

“Poor Steve,” Pepper remarks as Steve passes a hand over his face. 

“Poor Steve nothing,” Tony counters. “He was all too happy to toss me under the bus earlier.”

“Hey!” Steve exclaims. “I included you in my toast, didn’t I?”

“Huh.” He rubs his chin. “You’re right. I guess it’s time to tell you the truth. You are incredibly talented, big guy.”

When Tony claps a hand down on Steve’s shoulder and squeezes, Steve can feel his cheeks get hot again. Though Steve’s sure Tony meant what he said, making Steve flush again has him cracking up. Probably extra motivation for the compliments. 

Next to him, Bucky has a fist over his mouth to stifle his own laughs. When Steve looks over, he flicks his eyebrows up.

“And just what are you laughing at, kid?”

Bucky holds his hands up in surrender. “Nothin’, nothin’!” Eyes still on Steve, he begins to make his way to where Natasha is still looking over Steve’s paintings. “I’m gonna…” His smile starts to fade and he glances over his shoulder then back to Steve. “I can… you’re sure I can look?”

“Of course!” Steve exclaims a little louder than he meant. 

The enthusiasm doesn’t seem to put Bucky off at all. He just smiles again and goes to join Natasha. 

Nerves prick at Steve’s stomach -- nothing unusual in that -- but he’s also excited. Like Sharon, this will be the first time Bucky’s really ever seen his art. Steve’s shown him some sketches before -- Bucky’s even commented on wanting to see more of his work. It had just never come up at a time that was possible. So Steve is rather interested in how Bucky’s going to react. 

“Your lab partner?”

Steve looks to the right to see Sam standing next to him. Sam isn’t looking at him, though. He’s looking over at Bucky.

“Uh, yeah,” Steve says. “Why?”

“No, nothing… you just… never said anything about this guy.”

“No, I… I did. Mention him. I think. A, uh, a few weeks ago.” 

Steve knows it’s a stretch to be referring to the night Bucky had been nasty to Sharon, but he’s not lying. He might not have gone into detail, but he told Sam and Tony that he’d gotten into something of a fight with a friend from school. 

“Is this the kid you were talking about that night at the bar?” Sam asks. 

Returning his gaze back to where Bucky is, Steve nods. “Yeah.”

“I guess everything worked out then,” Sam assumes. 

“It…” Not quite. Getting there though, Steve hopes. “It’s okay. Yeah.”

When Sam chuckles, Steve looks away from Bucky and back to him. Sam’s lips have quirked up into something of a smirk and he rolls his eyes. 

“What?” Steve asks. “What’d I do?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs. “But it’s not everyday you light up when you _think_ you see someone and then disappear for almost a half an hour with them.”

“O-oh…” Stomach twisting, Steve drops his gaze. “I… I mean…”

Sam’s chuckling cuts him off. “Look, I get it. If you don’t wanna--”

“No! It’s not…”

“-- _Or_ you’re not ready,” Sam clarifies. “Or whatever. It’s cool, man. But…” He takes another quick glimpse at Bucky. “I mean, c’mon, Steve. I’ve known you my whole life. I know when there’s something going on.”

Of course he would. Just like Steve would know if there was something going on with him. 

“I like him,” Steve whispers. Holds onto the word love because he just can’t bring himself to say it out loud. Steve looks at Bucky again who’s now reaching out to skim his fingers along the painting of the tombstone. “So much.”

“How old is he?”

“He’s twenty. Twenty-one in March.”

“That’s… well that’s not…” Steve can hear Sam trying to keep any judgement out of his voice. “I mean, he’s young, but… eight years? That’s not so bad.”

“It’s more complicated than him being younger than me, Sam.”

“Okay.” Sam takes a moment to consider that. He’s already figured out that Steve’s not ready to talk about any intimate details concerning his and Bucky’s friendship, so Steve isn’t worried about that. “You like Sharon, too.”

Steve peeks over to where Sharon is still standing with Natasha and smiles. The two of them are happily chatting away. Bucky’s worst nightmare. It makes Steve chuckle to himself. 

“Yes,” he agrees. “I do. Very much.”

“That’s good,” Sam says. “That’s good. Look, you know I always got your back, right? Whatever you choose to do. I’m on your team.”

Then he pats Steve on the back and goes to join Maria and Pepper. Something soothing and calming pumps through Steve. Like a warm anesthetic that moves through his veins to take away the mountain of worry that’s weighed him down without him even realizing. He might not be ready to share how deeply he’s fallen for Bucky with Sam -- with _anyone_ for that matter -- but it’s more comforting than he could ever imagine knowing that he can. 

Still feeling all warm inside, Steve returns his attention back to Bucky. The good feeling slowly ebbs out when Steve sees where he is. For all the other pieces he’s looked at, he’s tilted his head or leaned in for the closest look possible. He’s even touched some as if physical contact with the art will bring him closer to it. But right now, Bucky’s just staring. He standing in front of the third and final painting not for sale. Of the two people, embraced in a tight, affectionate hug, and beset in a soft and warm glow. Around the two of them are dark, twisted shadows being chased away by the gentle light. Steve’s titled this one _Thanksgiving_. 

Steve has no idea if Bucky understands the significance of the painting and what it’s called, but it must mean something to him. Maybe he does understand just how much it means to Steve that he came over on Thanksgiving. That it really does feel as though Bucky’s visit and budding friendship has had a great hand in helping Steve in chasing away the shadows that have been following him for a decade. 

After another few moments of Bucky not moving, and Steve starts to really get worried. After all, that is the painting that Steve felt most connected to. The one that feels as though he’s cut into himself and spread some of his very own soul across the canvas. He never even considered what it would mean for Bucky to see it.

When Bucky still doesn’t move for another solid minute, Steve crosses the space between them and sees Bucky’s shoulders are trembling slightly. Steve places his hands on them. Soft and gentle and ready to take them off the second Bucky rejects the touch. Only he doesn’t this time. Instead of moving away from Steve like he’s been doing, his body begins to relax. Bucky even takes a half a step back so that he’s closer to Steve.

“Are you okay?” Steve murmurs. 

“Why did you call it that?”

“You…” Steve could always just make something up. Something that might be easier for Bucky to accept. It’s too late for that though. And Steve doesn’t want to lie. “You know why, Buck.”

Sounds like Bucky’s breath hitches, but he still doesn’t look away from the painting, not even to look back at Steve. Instead, he takes hold of one of Steve’s hands with both of his own. Turns into where they’re clasped together, as though afraid Steve might let go. Not that Steve ever would. 

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” Steve says. “I shouldn’t have--”

“I like this one the best,” Bucky whispers before suddenly letting go and rushing away. 

He goes straight to where Natasha is still talking with Sharon. The second he’s by her, Natasha doesn’t even pause in whatever she’s saying. She just puts her arm around him and goes right on talking. Whatever it is they’re discussing has Sharon smiling and when she responds, it makes both Natasha and Bucky laugh. 

If Steve didn’t know any better, he’d have no idea that anything was bothering Bucky at all. In fact, he goes right into talking with Natasha and Sharon as though he’s been a part of the conversation all along. Bucky seems to hold back a bit whenever he looks at Sharon,but he still pulls out the charm that Steve’s seen a hundred times. Batting eyes and saucy smirks. He gets Sharon laughing and says something that makes Natasha bump her hip into his. He even lets his gaze drift back to Steve and when it does, Bucky gives him a grin. It’s open and happy, but Steve can still see the bit of reservation behind it. Even if Bucky does wave him on over. 

“What’re you guys talking about over here?” Steve asks when he approaches. “Anything good?”

“Well, these two,” Natasha says with a wave towards both Bucky and Sharon. “Were just saying what a troublemaker you are in class.”

“What?!” Steve exclaims. Gets an expectant shrug from Sharon and a mischievous look from Bucky. “ _I’m_ the troublemaker?”

“How many times have you gotten us in trouble in English?” Sharon asks. 

“Okay, that was only _twice_ ,” he replies. Holds up two fingers as though that will somehow emphasize his point. “And _you_ were talking just as much as _I_ was.” Steve scrunches his face and mumbles, “I’m just the one that got caught.”

Sharon is kind enough to accept that, but she continues to maintain that Steve is a troublemaker on account of the time they snuck into a second movie on his insistence that it was owed to them since the first movie was horrible. 

“Oh _really_?” Bucky laughs. “You snuck into a movie, narc? What’re all the other grandpas gonna say when they find out?”

“Yeah, okay, you.” Steve points a finger at him. “We’ll see how sassy you are when I make you do a dissection all by yourself.”

Not only does Bucky’s smile fade to that adorable pout, but he goes completely still and silent for a second.

“But we… we’re not really doing another one... Are we?”

Steve can’t hold in the laugh. Poor Bucky looks like he’s torn between knowing that Steve’s only yanking his leg and terrified on the off chance that he’s not. 

“No, ba-- Bucky,” he murmurs. “We’re not. You’re safe.”

Cheeks filling with a blush, Bucky gives him a disgruntled little scowl and hides against Natasha’s shoulder. 

“Boys,” she scoffs. “What babies.”

“Tell me about it,” Sharon agrees. Adds a poke to Steve’s side as she says, “This one over here was a nervous wreck the day he had to do it.”

When she says that, Bucky picks his head up and looks at Steve, his brows furrowed. He opens his mouth to say something, but Natasha responds to Sharon first.

“And they say men are made out of steel or something.” Natasha shakes her head and makes a face at Bucky when he sticks his tongue out at her. “If dancing doesn’t work out for me, I’d love to be a surgeon.”

“Oh really?” Sharon asks. 

“Sure. The idea of being able to actually open someone up and take a peek inside? Totally fascinating.”

“It is!” Sharon replies. “I considered medicine in high school when we dissected a cat.”

“A… a cat?” Bucky whimpers softly.

“I did a shark,” Natasha says. Steve doesn’t think she or Sharon heard Bucky’s dismay. He did. And they both share a look as the two women go on speaking. “In marine biology. It was awesome.”

Bucky is still looking at Steve with this frown on his face when he huffs and shakes his head.

“I told you this was a bad idea,” he mutters to Steve. 

There’s still a happy gleam in Bucky’s eyes despite the frown, but his cheeks are a little pale. Just this talk seems to be enough to turn his stomach, and once again neither Natasha nor Sharon have noticed. They just continue to discuss the wonders and marvels of the science behind cutting into things. To be honest, this isn’t exactly Steve’s first pick of conversation topics either, so he smirks at Bucky and jerks his head towards the door.

“Fresh air?” he suggests, and laughs as Bucky lights up at the idea. 

“Yes, please?”

Still chuckling, Steve nods and places his hand at the side of Sharon’s neck to politely interrupt whatever she’s now saying about a cat’s liver. 

“Sorry,” Steve says. “We’ll be right back, okay? Gonna go take this one for some fresh air.”

“Oh, sure,” she responds, and then gives him a kiss. Just a quick peck on the lips before she goes right back to talking with Natasha. It’s nothing she hasn’t done before. In fact, they’ve done that quite often when parting. Just… never in front of Bucky, and the normal, pleasant sensation that usually races through Steve doesn’t quite show up this time. Instead, a cold, prickly feeling rolls through his stomach when Bucky bites down on his lip and glances down at his feet. 

He still steps away from Natasha though so he can walk with Steve toward the doors. On their way out, that young lady with the strawberries happens to spot Bucky and hurries over to him again with a smile. Bucky grins back, but doesn’t take a strawberry this time. He just strolls past her and keeps on going. There’s determination in each step he takes. Like maybe he’ll change his mind and go running back to Natasha if he doesn’t make it outside fast enough. 

The nighttime air stretches over them like shadowed velvet. It’s cold, but not cruelly so. There’s no sting to the wind or bite to the air. As the evening at the museum begins to wind down, some people are leaving for the night while others step to the side to enjoy a cigarette or cigar as the night goes on. 

The second the glass doors were in view, Bucky was digging into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes. Now, he stands with Steve off to the side where others are smoking. Unlike those people, though, who are chatting away and laughing and enjoying each other’s company, Steve and Bucky remain silent. 

Bucky sucks on his cigarette, doing his best to keep it as far away from Steve as possible, while still remaining somewhat near him. He’s also looking at everything except Steve. All Steve can look at is Bucky as he frantically tries to figure out what to say. Or if he should say anything at all. Perhaps he should just ignore what happened in there. It was just a kiss. A quick, chaste kiss. Or maybe that’s not what Bucky’s thinking about at all. He does pull out his phone after sticking the cigarette between his lips so that he can text someone. Maybe it’s Steve who’s making a big deal about it, as his mind tends to do. 

Once Bucky shoves his phone back in his pocket, he takes the cigarette and blows some smoke from his lungs, where it swirls around with the silky mist that forms from the cold, winter air. In the middle of his exhale, Bucky peeks over at Steve. 

“Were you really nervous?” he asks. 

Well the answer to that is probably a resounding yes. The only problem is that Steve has no idea when Bucky’s talking about. Tonight? When they first hooked up? The first day of school? 

“I’m gonna need you to narrow that down, Buck,” he answers. 

That makes Bucky’s lips curl up in a little, amused smirk as he takes another drag and nods. 

“Sharon said you were a nervous wreck. The day of the pig thing.” Oh. Sure. Steve gets it now. “Is that true?”

“That I was nervous?” Bucky nods. “Yeah. It wasn’t exactly the highlight of my semester.”

Only that, in some ways, it really was. The lab itself may have been particularly unsettling, but that was one of the first times Bucky really let Steve take care of him. It might have been out of necessity — and for lack of any better options — but he still did. 

“But then…” Bucky looks baffled. He takes one final drag before flicking the cigarette to the ground and putting it out. “If you were so freaked out, how’d you do the lab so well?”

“Oh.” Steve’s heart twists with understanding. Because Bucky really doesn’t get why he’d put aside his own discomfort just to help him. “Well, because you needed me to.”

“I didn’t _need_ you to,” Bucky huffs as though he suddenly needs to maintain some sort of male bravado. “I’d’ve… I… I mean I could’ve…”

“Passed out?” Steve finishes for him since anything else Bucky tries to say will be a lie. “Thrown up, maybe?”

At first, that irritated look on Bucky’s face just deepens. Bucky’s walls are shooting back up around him. The walls that make him guarded and sometimes snippy. But then he just sighs through a chuckle. 

“Yeah, okay. Maybe you got a point.” Bucky loosens the knot in his tie. “It’s just…” He peers up at Steve. “You did that for me?”

“Well… yeah.” Steve wonders if Bucky will ever not meet kindness with confusion and suspicion. At least from someone who knows the hidden side of Bucky’s life. “Isn’t that what Natasha or Clint would’ve done?” 

“Yeah, but…” Bucky smirks. “They’re family.” He shrugs. “I’d do the same for them. You’re… I mean…” Pink splashes across Bucky’s cheeks. “I, uh… shit. I mean, they’ve known me for years. You only knew me for a few weeks.”

Plenty of time to fall in love with him though. Just a few weeks. That’s all it took. Still, Steve gets it. It’s hard enough for Bucky to make this transition from a customer only relationship to a friendship with Steve. The thought of Steve sucking up his unease and discomfort must be strange and unusual for him. And Steve hates that. Hates that Bucky views acts of kindness as a barter system at best. Because why would anyone be nice to someone like him without wanting something in return? 

“Bucky, I…”

“I know what you’re gonna say,” Bucky interrupts. “That we’re friends, right? And you wanted to do it?” He’s pulling out another cigarette. Quickly lighting it like he desperately needs to keep his hands busy. “It’s just… Steve, you’re not the first of my tricks to do nice things for me.”

“Okay,” Steve replies slowly. “Then why…”

“Because none of them really liked _me_. They liked, I dunno, the idea of me? They wanted to be my hero and shit. Like my knight in shining armor.” Bucky’s starting to fidget. This conversation makes him uncomfortable. “Someone who comes riding in on their noble steed and rescues me from my oh-so-tragic life. I don’t need someone to rescue me, Steve.”

“I’m not trying to rescue you,” Steve assures him, though, to be honest, he never really thought about how his actions might sometimes look like that. “I never was. I know you don’t need rescuing. I like being nice to you because I like you, Buck.”

Bucky scoffs a laugh as he exhales some more smoke. “I think you just like being nice in general.”

“I…” Okay he’s got him there. “Yeah, okay. I do. But that doesn’t negate the fact that I like _you_. I like _you_ , Bucky.”

“That’s what Brock--” Bucky cuts himself off and grinds his jaw before flicking his eyes back up to Steve again. “I’m sorry. I know you’re not… I mean… I hope you’re not…” He sighs and mumbles, “I dunno what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing, Bucky,” Steve tells him. “There’s nothing wrong with you.” He takes a step closer and slips his hand over Bucky’s shoulder. What Steve wouldn’t give to be able to chase away Bucky’s demons. “You’ve been hurt, baby.” Steve flinches internally. “Bucky,” he murmurs before the potential blunder can make things too awkward. “It’s going to take time. But, if you want, I can be here for you. I’m not going anywhere unless you don’t want me around.”

Bucky stares at him with this an unreadable expression. Eyes wide and misty. Steel exploding like his very own shield against a scary world. Doing nothing to disturb the position they’ve ended up in, Bucky squeezes his eyes closed and rubs at them with his fingers like he’s trying to hold in unshed tears. 

His voice splinters with unchecked emotion when he says, “You… promise?”

Steve’s not one to make careless promises. A promise means more to him than just clumsy words that come from his mouth. When he makes one, it’s with every intention on seeing it through to the end. So Steve places his other hand on Bucky’s shoulder and slides them both to the crook of Bucky’s neck. Grabs his attention enough that he looks right into Steve’s eyes. 

“I promise you, Bucky,” he says with as much conviction as he’s able to convey. “I’m not going anywhere unless you order me away.”

Bucky’s mouth pulls up into a wobbly smile. A sigh releases from his lungs. Heavy and yet accepting. One moment of peace among so much chaos as he lets his head drop against Steve’s chest. He sighs again. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Takes a step forward and lets Steve’s arms slip down around him. 

Feeling a shudder pass through him, Steve guides Bucky in closer. A wave of excitement rolls over him as he does and Bucky comes willingly. He pets a hand over Bucky’s head. Tucking him safely in his arms. 

“Why’re you apologizing?”

“Because…” He shrugs against Steve. “I’m a pain in the ass.”

“You’re not a pain in the ass.” Steve snickers softly into Bucky’s hair as he rubs Bucky’s neck. “Okay, maybe you are. But it’s okay. I like you like this.”

In response to that, Steve can feel Bucky shake with a laugh and then wrap his own arms around Steve’s neck. 

“Thank you, Steve,” he whispers as he lifts his chin to look up at him.

Everything else fades from view and everything becomes Bucky. The world becomes a pair of steel grey eyes, like the sky before a perfect storm. Those pale cheeks and rosy lips. Their breaths mixing together. 

Then Bucky leans in to catch Steve’s mouth, and suddenly they’re kissing. Lips locked and arms hugging tighter around each other. Steve’s body buzzes with life as he gives right back. Nothing else matters right now. Nothing but the feel of Bucky’s soft lips against his and the touch his body under Steve’s hands as Steve pulls him that much closer. 

This feels so perfect. Everything Steve could ever want as he melts into Bucky’s mouth. So soft. So smooth. So… so… wrong.

These are not the lips he should be kissing. Not now. Breathless and heart pounding, Steve tears away from the kiss, but still keeps his hands on Bucky. On his hips. Steve can’t bring himself to let go. The feel of Bucky’s body beneath his palms is intoxicating. But not enough to miss the look of horror on Bucky’s face. 

His eyes are round as saucers, a look of complete and utter shock of what’s just happened. 

“Bucky.” Steve tightens the grip he has on Bucky’s waist. “It’s okay.”

“No,” he whispers. “I’m so… Steve, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t’ve done that.”

“I shouldn’t have let it happen.” Bucky’s worried eyes are locked with Steve’s. “It’s okay, Buck.”

For a second, a heartbeat of time, Steve thinks Bucky might actually listen. He’s wrong, and Bucky rips away from him. The sudden loss of the warm body nearly pressed to his has him stumbling forward. 

“ _No_ ,” Bucky growls through clenched teeth. “It’s not okay. You’re… you’re with Sharon now. And I’m not going to ruin that.” He’s pacing back and forth while rubbing circles into his temples. “I’m not gonna fuck shit up for you, Steve. You deserve better than that. It’s just…” Bucky sighs and stops. Shakes his head as he stares at the cold, hard ground. “When I’m with you, I remember how much I--”

Bucky cuts himself off. Words swallowed down by fear and shock. It makes Steve’s heart slam against his ribs. Hard, frantic beats that leave him dizzy.

“Remember how much you what, Bucky?”

“I…” His mouth hangs open. “It’s just that I…” Bucky shakes his head and snaps his mouth closed now. “No. No, it doesn’t matter. I’m not gonna be that person. I won’t ruin…”

“Hey.” Steve reaches out for Bucky to pull him back into a hug. Surprisingly, Bucky allows it. He even clings onto Steve’s suit jacket. “You’re not going to ruin anything. It’s going to be alright.”

“I don’t know how to do this, Steve,” Bucky admits. Pressing his face into the lapel of Steve’s shirt. “I… Steve, can I… is it okay to tell you that I… that I miss you?”

“Oh, Bucky,” Steve murmurs. Places a hand on the back of Bucky’s head and hugs him to his chest. “Of course it is. I miss you, too. I… I wanna see more of you. If that’s okay.”

Bucky glances up at him. A nervous grin twitches on his mouth. He bites his lip as his eyes scan over Steve’s face.

“We can… have lunch?” His voice is shy and timid, and holds in it a pinch of hope. “Together? On Monday maybe?”

“I’d like that,” Steve whispers. “We can walk to class together after?”

“O-okay. Yeah.” Bucky’s frowns a bit. He steps out of Steve’s embrace. Looks a little worried. “You… Sharon won’t… care, will she?”

“No.” Of that Steve’s sure of. “Don’t worry. It’s fine.”

“‘Kay.” Bucky nods to himself and scratches the back of his head. “Okay.” He breathes out softly. “Steve? Thanks, uh, thank you for inviting me tonight. I’m… glad I came.”

“You weren’t going to,” Steve says. “Were you?”

Glancing down, Bucky tugs on his ear and shakes his head. “It would’ve been a mistake though. I’d’ve felt real bad if I missed this.”

“Well, I am glad you came. It was better with you here. Icing on the cake. The cherry on top. Sprinkles. Hot fudge. Whipped cream. If you don’t stop me I’m gonna keep going.”

Bucky snorts a laugh, and then, after a long hard stare at Steve, starts cracking up. So much so that his eyes glisten with amused tears -- one or two that dance softly across long lashes -- and it looks like he can’t even breathe. The sight is magical. Something Steve hasn’t seen in over a month and he can’t help getting sucked right into the laughter. 

“You are such a loser, grandpa,” Bucky finally gets out between gasps. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve chuckles. “C’mon, kid. Let’s get back inside.”

“Uh, actually…” Bucky reaches into his back pocket and checks his phone. “I, uh, I gotta… well, I, um…”

“You have a customer.”

For the first time ever, Bucky looks embarrassed about telling Steve that. As though he’s ashamed to admit it. Or maybe worried. Fearful that Steve’s promise is as fragile as so many others he’s received and will crack and shatter even at the slightest test of resistance. 

Steve won’t lie, not even to himself. He doesn’t like that Bucky is leaving here to go meet a client. Then again, Steve never likes it. Never likes that someone is going to put their hands all over him. Lips anywhere on his body. Leaving marks on smooth and perfect skin. More than that, Steve hates the fact that there’s no guarantee that some asshole isn’t going to try to hurt him. 

Still, Steve says, “It’s okay, Buck. I get it.”

Because he does. Steve understands that this is part of Bucky’s job. A job that he doesn’t need rescuing from. 

“Sorry, Steve,” Bucky mumbles. “I know I--”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he interrupts. Slips two fingers under Bucky’s chin to lift it back up. “I promised, remember? I’m not going anywhere.” When Bucky opens his mouth again, Steve puts those fingers against his lips to keep him from talking. “If you’re going to apologize again, don’t. You don’t have to.” 

Not for this. Never for needing reassurance or validation or anything of the sort. Steve will give him all the encouragement in the world. 

“You’re really too good for me, Steve,” Bucky says quietly. 

“Bucky, that’s not--”

“Whatever happens?” he interrupts. “I’m, uh, I’m real glad I met you.”

“Me too, Bucky.” Steve puts his hand to the side of Bucky’s face. Makes his eyes close. “Me too.”

That’s nothing but the truth. Even if, somehow, for whatever reasons, this all goes horribly wrong, Steve can’t fathom how he’d ever regret the time he’s had with Bucky. No matter what happens, Steve has these memories that he can keep safe. Because that’s where Bucky belongs. Bucky might not be fully aware of it, but he’s carved a spot for himself in Steve’s heart. A spot meant only and always for him. 

“I should… I better go,” Bucky says as he steps away from Steve’s touch. “I texted Nat, but…”

“I’ll let her know,” Steve says. “Just in case.”

“Thanks,” he whispers. “And congratulations for, y’know--” He gestures towards the museum. “All this. It’s really awesome. You should be proud.” 

“Thank you, Bucky. Really.” Biting back the urge to ask Bucky to text him when he’s home, Steve says, “Be safe. Okay?”

“Yeah.” For a second, Bucky just stands there. Steve’s not sure for what, and something flashes across Bucky’s face. Hurt? Disappointment? Guilt? All three, maybe. “‘Kay, well, night, Steve. I’ll… see ya Monday.”

“Goodnight, Bucky.”

Bucky stands there for a few more seconds before turning around and heading down the block. He disappears in moments. A city of shimmering lights and nonstop footsteps and honking horns see to that. 

Steve knows this is right. The way things are supposed to be, and as he heads back inside, the night unfurls around him in happiness and splendor. With friends and art and love. 

All Steve has to figure out now is how to get rid of this ache that still squeezes the middle of his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! And welcome back! And again, I'm so super sorry for the wait between updates. Anyone following my fics for a while knows this is so not like me. I swear, I'm trying so hard to get on a roll again, but life just keeps getting in the way. I hope everyone had good holidays and for anyone stuck in the snow after that nutty blizzard I hope you're keeping warm! 
> 
> But anyway, before the tomatoes start flying, things will start looking up next chapter! 
> 
> So before we part again, I'll leave you with an image of the boys at the gallery
> 
> First, we'll start with the man of the hour
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> ((But, like, really, who gave him the right?))
> 
> and here's Bucky 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> ((Seriously one of my fave pics))
> 
> Alrighty well, I suppose that's it for now! Feel free to check my out on tumblr at [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/) a place for marvel and stucky and lots of fun!
> 
> Thanks for reading and, again, your continued patience!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is a fairy tale mentioned in this chapter. Here's a guide to the pronunciation of some names
> 
> Oisin - O-sheen 
> 
> Niamh - Neeve
> 
> Tír na nÓg - Tear na Noge

As usual, the student center is packed. Spring is just around the corner, and with it, hopefully warmer weather. Then maybe the crowds will be more spaced out. There’re a lot of nice places to go around campus. Once it’s nice out again, there’ll be more options, and then maybe Steve won’t have to fight his way through this place. 

Steve makes his way across the overcrowded room, carefully maneuvering around people while trying to keep his coffee from spilling and dropping his sandwich. Which almost happens twice. First when someone runs past him to grab an open seat and then when someone almost backs into him. Somehow, he makes it through the packed student center without disaster happening. 

When he reaches the area Bucky said he’d be waiting, Steve scans all the tables, thinks about texting Bucky instead of trying to search for him, but spots him after taking a second look around.

There’s an unopened box of mini-pizza on the table and Bucky’s taking a sip from his drink while doing something on his phone. He hasn’t looked up yet, not even when Steve approaches. 

“Hey,” Steve says as he pulls the chair out. “Is this seat taken?”

Bucky glances up from his phone then and looks surprised to see anyone let alone Steve there. For a second or two, Steve wonders if maybe he got the time -- maybe even the day -- wrong. As far as he can remember they planned on meeting for an early lunch before class today. They even confirmed last night. Unless that was a dream. Steve doesn’t think it was a dream, but then again…

 

“You…” Bucky blinks and bites his lip. “You came.” 

Stomach twisting painfully, understanding fills him. So much Steve practically drowns in it. Bucky really wasn’t sure that he’d show up when he said he would, even after confirming last night. He fixes a soft smile on his face and doesn’t sit just yet. Steve’s promised Bucky that he’ll do whatever it takes to be his friend. If that means gentle reminders of that promise sometimes then so be it. 

“Yeah. I told you I would.” He gestures to the chair. “Are we still okay then? Can I sit?”

“Yeah!” Bucky exclaims and then tucks his chin down with a cough. “Yes.” There a tailend of a blush on his cheeks when he looks back up. “Yeah, sure.”

Grinning, Steve puts his sandwich and coffee down and sits. He takes a second or two to adjust his bookbag over his lap and then looks up to find Bucky watching him. The second they catch eyes, Bucky’s gaze drops. He reaches for his drink, almost knocks it over in his haste and gets out one awkward chuckle before getting the straw in his mouth. Bucky sighs -- a puff of air shooting out of his nose as he drinks. 

Once his sipping begins to border on the line of taking too long to be real, Bucky puts the cup back on the table. Pushes at it a bit with his index finger until it settles over the wet ring that formed before picking it up. Then nothing. 

Bucky trains his eyes on the bottom of his cup while Steve’s gaze goes from the table to Bucky to the table again. Several minutes tick by in silence -- the awkward realization that this is the first planned one-on-one interaction they’ve ever really had like this finally setting upon them. Steve goes to say something -- what, he’s not completely sure -- gets as far as opening his mouth before snapping it closed again. There’re no words there even though he has so much to say. 

"How was the rest of your weekend?" he settles for. 

"Oh, you know." Bucky shrugs. "Pretty normal. Hung out with Nat and Clint. Made some dough." He cracks a cute, mischievous grin. "Nothing as glamorous as _Friday_ though." He sighs. "My lifestyle with the rich and famous was just so short lived." 

Steve snickers. "Lucky for you, you have an in."

"Yeah?" Bucky wiggles his eyebrows. "I mean, I figured Sharon was a classy gal. You really think she'll hook me up?"

"You couldn't just let me have that, could you?" Steve shakes his head. "My one moment of glory."

"Oh, please," Bucky scoffs. "Like _that'll_ be your one moment of glory. Dude, did you even _see_ your stuff? You're like the next Van Goh or something." He seems to think on that for a second. "Okay, maybe he's a bad example, but you know what I mean."

Steve smiles, a pleasant sensation shooting through him as Bucky's compliment settles in his bones. 

“You really liked my stuff?”

Bucky’s taking another sip of his drink and almost starts talking before he even swallows. 

“Dude! _Yeah_! Nat did, too. She told almost everyone about it all weekend long. She wants to take Clint to see it, too. Told ‘im he had to see. He’ll complain, but he’s totally full of shit cause he likes stuff like that too even if he pretends he doesn’t. Oh, and I told my mom, too, and she said that she’d come with Becky and we’d go one weekend--what?”

“Nothing.” Bucky’s starting to ramble. It’s cute. And Steve is smiling. “You’re gonna go see it again?”

“Oh.” A blush kisses his cheeks. “Well. Y’know.” He opens his mouth. Must change his mind and goes with, “You don’t mind, do you?”

“No! Of course not!” Steve chuckles and puts his hand down over Bucky’s. “I’d love it. I’d… I mean, I’d love to know if they liked it.” Even if knowing they’re going will put endless knots in Steve’s belly. 

Bucky smiles. “‘Kay. Cool. So… uh…” He sniffs and then eases his hand out from under Steve’s. “What’d you do the rest of the weekend?”

“Nothing,” Steve says, rolling his fingers in and pulling his hand away. “Happily.”

He laughs. “You don’t like being the center of attention much, do ya, Steve?”

“No,” he answers with a chuckle. “I am not you, kid.”

He smiles again. Tells Steve about performing in high school and that he’s even considering doing another dance performance with Natasha at her request. And then they fall into another round of silence. Bucky picks at his pizza and Steve takes a few bites of his sandwich. The two of them start gazing around the room as though something in there will make this less awkward.

“So, guess what?” Steve says when his knee starts shaking and Bucky clearly begins struggling with the urge to bolt for the door.

Bucky glances up at him like he’s a little startled that Steve’s managed to say something after such a long stretch of silence. He cracks a small grin.

“What?”

“I got season tickets for the Yankees with some of my friends.” Weeks ago actually, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. “Box seats, too.” Because Tony couldn’t be swayed otherwise.

“Yeah?” There’s a big smile on Bucky’s face now. “That’s awesome. You know, I lost my first tooth at a Yankees’ game.”

“Really?”

“Uh-ha.” Bucky takes another bite of pizza and goes on with his mouth full. “I was five. It was my first game ever. Mom and Pop took me even though he was a Dodgers’ fan and I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Chunky peanut butter, and I chomped down on a nut and my loose tooth…” He makes a popping noise with his lips. “Pops right out.” Bucky grins. “I was so excited. I thought that made me so special.”

Steve chuckles. “I’m sure the tooth fairy thought so, too.”

“Oh sure.” Bucky shrugs. “I made twenty bucks.”

“Wow,” Steve says. “Inflation sure did a number on the tooth fairy.”

Smiling, Bucky runs the tip of his finger through the water that’s dripped down the side of his cup onto the table. 

“Pop used’ta take us to games every year. Me and Becky. As many as possible. She doesn’t remember much about him, but she remembers that.” He looks back up at Steve. “She’s a Mets’ fan. I’ve only been to a few games at the new stadium though.”

Steve needs a moment before responding to that. To the fact that, even in this place where he and Bucky are trying to figure out exactly where or how they fit with each other, Bucky’s still handed that to him. Steve feels honored as he locks such a cherished gift in a special, private place in his heart. 

“Maybe,” he says softly, “if you want, you can come some time this summer. To a game, I mean. With me. And my friends. If that’s something you’d like.”

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Bucky nods. “I… yeah. Yeah. That… that’d be cool.”

They smile at each other in a moment that falls somewhere between comfortable and uncomfortable. 

“So, you’re a Yankees’ fan and your sister’s a Mets’ fan, huh?” Steve asks. “What’s that like?”

Bucky rolls his eyes and scoffs quite dramatically before going on to tell Steve about the battles that have gone on between him and his sister during baseball season. Bets and bickering and wrestling matches -- that Becky apparently always wins -- and taunting. Not very good sportsmanship, but Bucky laughs and says they have fun anyway. 

When he finishes with that, they slip into another bit of silence. That one lasts for about a minute or so, with Bucky nibbling on his lip and watching his cup while Steve’s glands do their best to choke him. They get past that hurdle and talk their current classes. 

“I got _two_ papers due on the same day,” Bucky grumbles. “I swear it’s like these teachers plan it.”

“Well,” Steve says, “At least we’re not dissecting anything this time.”

Bucky shudders and takes a bite of his pizza. “Thank _god_.” He then winces and hisses a bit as he chews. 

“You okay?”

“Mhm.” He touches the side of his mouth. “Just my tooth. It hurts a little.”

“Why don’t you go to the dentist?”

Avoiding that question by taking another mouthful of pizza, Bucky diverts the conversation onto other things. Steve thinks back to Bucky resting on his couch with an icepack on his head the two afternoons he’d gotten sick after the dissection lab. He thought, at the time, it was just the lab. Bucky’d said he’d once fainted when he’d gone with his dad for a blood test and that the thought of being a doctor made him queasy. He’d also asked _not_ to be taken to a hospital. Steve wonders if maybe _all_ doctors are off limits for him if at all possible. 

So Steve just goes with it. Let’s Bucky steer the conversation in whatever way makes him comfortable. Which turns out being him explaining an entire season of some show he, Nat, and Clint are binge watching. 

By the time they need to leave for their class, Steve is pleasantly relieved that they’ve managed to work their way through this with only a few bumps along the road. Sure, they ran into them, but they also worked around them. Or over them. Sometimes even ramming through them, having to force their way through a few changes in topics to get the discussion rolling again, but they did it. 

They did it and now they’re walking to their class together while Bucky takes to complaining about his tooth again. 

“Bucky,” Steve says as they walk. “If it’s really _that_ bad…”

“It’s not, it’s not,” he insists. “I can just take some Tylenol. It’ll be fine.”

Another thought crosses Steve’s mind about the situation. Steve knows his mother is unemployed and struggling and it’s not as though Bucky’s getting benefits through his current profession. Maybe he _can’t_ go to the doctor. Steve glances at Bucky to see him pressing his fingers up to his cheek. Despite what he says, it hurts. 

“Do you have insurance, Bucky?” he asks. “Can you _go_ to a doctor?”

Dropping his hand away from his face, Bucky throws an irritated glower at him.

“ _Yes_ , I can go to the doctor, Steve,” he bites back. “I don’t work as hard as I do for _nothing_ , you know.”

A hard lump forms in Steve’s throat. He didn’t mean it that way and certainly didn’t mean to insult Bucky. 

“I… I’m sorry, Buck,” he murmurs. “That was rude of me. I was only…”

“No, you…” Bucky sighs. Reaching their building, they come to a stop. “You just care.” He flicks his gaze up. “Thanks for that by the way.”

“For caring?” Steve asks, and Bucky nods. “It’s not hard. You make it easy, Bucky.”

Breathing out softly, Bucky holds back a grin and peers at Steve through his lashes. Eyes shining with glitter. 

“We should get in,” Steve tells him. “We’re gonna be late.”

Class goes fine. A little better than fine, in fact. There’s less tension than there has been over the last few weeks. It’s not like it was last semester. No easy jokes or playful banter. Bucky doesn’t lean casually across the desk as he pretends to take notes. But today he does sit a bit slouched. A little more comfortable. He even ends up with his chin in his hand near the midway point and sighs. When Steve catches him, Bucky blushes and mutters an apology and picks himself back up to continue taking notes. 

Even _after_ class things are different. Steve’s grown so used to Bucky either springing out of his seat and hurrying away or mumbling a quick goodbye when they’re dismissed that Steve’s almost startled when he does neither of them today. Instead, Bucky stands and waits. He shifts his weight back and forth, a nervous smile playing on his lips. Like he’s not sure whether or not he should just leave. 

Steve offers a reassuring smile in return as he packs up his things. His heart does funny things behind his ribs. Like teetering between being full of nerves and being giddy as a school boy.

“Hey, guys!” Bucky calls out to his other friends. “Wait up!”

He takes hold of Steve’s arm like it’s completely normal and hoists him out of his seat. A shock runs through Steve’s whole body as Bucky leads him outside with the rest of them. He even treats Steve being there as though it happens all the time. No one else questions it either. Teddy, Billy, Kate, and Kamala just smile and they stand outside the building chatting like usual. 

Being around other people sees Bucky a lot more animated. Less held back and reserved, even with Steve there. Quick to tell jokes and doesn’t even seem to mind those playful touches, though Steve leaves those mostly to him. He’ll brush his hand over Steve’s arm and sway into him a little bit. He even gives him a playful hug after teasing him a bit. 

Some of it is an act, Steve’s sure. A performance for the friends who aren’t Natasha and Clint who know him better than anyone. Those he can get away with it in front of. With them, Bucky can pretend like everything is fine. And for a little while, maybe, for him, everything can be. 

Steve’s not sure how long he’s been standing around with them -- Billy and Teddy leave after a few minutes for their next class -- until someone taps him on the shoulder. He turns to see Sharon there.

“Hey!” he greets. And then it dawns on him that he’s been here much longer than he intended. “Sharon! What… what time is it?”

She chuckles. “Almost a half an hour later than when you were supposed to meet me.”

That’s right. Steve was supposed to meet Sharon at the student center after class before he went to work. He’d been having such a good time here with Bucky that he completely forgot about it. 

“Oh, Sharon, I’m so sorry,” he says. “I got caught up here. Oh, this is Kate and Kamala.” Steve gestures to each of them. “And you know Bucky. I--”

“It… it’s my fault,” Bucky interjects softly. Nervously, even. “I’m sorry, Sharon. I… I dragged him out here.”

Sharon looks at him, a little surprised and then smiles. “I doubt you actually _dragged_ him. It’s okay. He’ll make it up to me.” She smiles some more. “Hello, Bucky. How are you?”

Bucky smiles now, those nerves starting to disappear. 

“I’m okay. Oh, um… Nat wanted me to give Steve her number to give to you. I forgot though.” He blushes a little. “Can I just give it to you? I advised against it. I figured the two of you would just take over the world, but she insisted.”

Steve holds in a chuckle. Sharon did rave about how much she liked Natasha and after talking with her on Friday, Natasha seemed to have gained a new interest in law enforcement. Having Sharon to talk to could definitely prove to be beneficial. Even if it’s Bucky’s worst nightmare. 

“Well,” Sharon chuckles as she hands Bucky her phone. “World domination is our goal, but graduation first.”

Bucky sighs and adds Natasha’s number to her contacts. “We’re all doomed.”

She thanks him when she gets her phone back and then asks Steve if he’s ready to go. Figuring she’s waited way too long for him anyway -- and feeling incredibly guilty for that -- Steve nods and apologizes again. 

“Yeah. I can be a little late for work if you still wanna stop at the student center?”

“Don’t be silly,” she says. “It’s fine.”

“Okay.” He fixes the strap of his bookbag and then looks back to his classmates. “So I’ll see you all on Wednesday?” 

There’s a collective yes from them and waves and smiles. Both Kate and Kamala tell Sharon it was nice to meet her. Bucky is a little quieter now as he says goodbye, wiggling his fingers and almost whispering, “Bye, Steve. Bye, Sharon,” with a soft smile on his face. 

“I’m so sorry about that, Sharon,” Steve says again as they walk away. “I really just got so caught up.”

“It’s fine, Steve.” She laces their fingers to hold his hand. “It happens.”

Now that their hands are together, Steve smiles and brings hers up to his lips to give it a kiss. She grins. 

“How was your day?” Steve asks. 

“Eh. Normal, I suppose. Typical Monday. You?”

“Nice, actually,” he tells her. “It was a good day. I think… maybe I was able to rekindle a friendship.”

Sharon doesn’t respond to that right away. Instead, she just looks straight ahead and continues to walk. After a moment, she nods and just gives his hand a squeeze. 

“So, did you have any plans tonight, Steve?”

“Oh, well, I was thinking,” he says. “Maybe I can buy you dinner? You know, to make up for making you wait?”

She barks an amused laugh and rests her head against his shoulder. As they go on, Steve feels his phone buzz in his pocket. Two buzzes so it must be a text. He’ll check it when he gets to the art department. 

“Steve Rogers, are you trying to use your guilt as a way to buy me dinner?”

He pinches his fingers together. “Maybe a little.”

“What if I counter with you have to let _me_ pay because you were late?” 

That throws him so off that Steve actually stumbles over his feet a bit. He stops walking, making Sharon stop as well, but the face he’s making must be hilarious since one look at it has her bursting with laughter. 

“Sharon Carter,” he grumbles, “you fight dirty.”

“I fight to win,” she laughs, leaning in and pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. 

They do decide to meet for dinner that night by the time they part, though the matter of payment has still been left in the air. Steve makes it to the art department for work just in time. He even has to hustle a bit the last few blocks to get there. 

Monday’s usually see his workload pretty heavy -- papers that professors need graded and displays that need to be taken down and lots of clerical work to be done -- so it’s nearly two hours before Steve’s able to just sit down for a minute to catch his breath. 

When he does get that minute, he pulls his phone out and sees he has a text message. Remembers then that he got it while walking with Sharon. His palms are already sweaty. It’s from Bucky. Trying not to get ahead of himself and panic for no reason -- it was a good day, he reminds himself -- Steve clicks it. And smiles. 

**Bucky: hey! So um… any way we can meet up for lunch again on wednesday?**

Steve feels nearly lightheaded. Not only does Bucky want to meet up again, but he’s taken it upon himself to reach out to Steve to do so. About to reply, Steve starts typing an answer when he gets another text.

**Bucky: it’s ok if u don’t wanna nbg or nth it’s ok**

A knot ties itself tight and hard in Steve’s stomach. He can’t imagine how much courage it must have taken Bucky to send that first text. The wait for an answer may have been torturous. It’s not Steve’s fault, Steve knows that, but he still feels bad and he quickly types up a response. 

**Steve: No no! I do! Sorry Bucky I’m at work and didn’t see ur text till now. But yes! I’d love to meet you for lunch on wednesday! Same time and place?**

He only waits a few minutes for an answer. 

**Bucky: yeah! Ok!**

**Steve: great! Then i’ll see wednesday :)**

**Bucky: awesomesauce!**

Steve chuckles and puts his phone away before getting back to work. Smiling for today, and looking forward to the of the week. 

***

Things actually become fairly routine during the following weeks. Classes are going well and Dr. Xavier has talked to him about taking advanced painting next semester and work has been just fine. Steve finds himself looking forward to nearly everyday of the week. Since almost everyday he’s with someone he cares about. 

He’s able to spend time with Sharon between classes and on the weekends. They spend a good chunk of their shared class attempting not to goof around. Sometimes, being with Sharon makes Steve feel like he’s in high school again. A teenager on the verge of getting into all sorts of hijinks. 

They enjoy their free time together on the weekends both going out and staying it. They’ve stuck to traditional outings -- dinner and a movie, coffee, brunch -- and branched out to more exciting things. Not just trips to the museums or the one hockey game they went to, which were exciting and fun in and of themselves. But like the night Steve took Sharon stargazing at Floyd Bennett Field or when Sharon took him on a pizza and beer tasting tour in Greenwich Village. 

Weekends also give them a chance to get to know each other’s friends. While Sharon already gets along famously with his group of friends and he gets along just fine with hers, Steve’s gotten to meet her childhood best friend from upstate, Bobbi, and even, briefly, her ex-husband -- who shook Steve’s hand a little too long and even awkwardly pointed out that he was doing so. 

Nights they don’t feel like going out, they’re both very content to just lounge around on his couch or her couch, watching a movie and eating some take-out. They’ve even done homework on their couches together. They’ve spent time making out on their couches together, too. Like a couple of teenagers. 

Valentine’s Day is when Steve finally, _finally_ , gets to really treat Sharon with no conditions. To be fair, it’s mostly because Tony had passes to an event at the Natural History Museum he wasn’t using and offered them to Steve. 

So they got to have dinner with cocktails and champagne and chocolates at the museum’s Rose Center and then enjoyed a thrilling and amazing show at the planetarium afterwards. 

“Alright, alright,” Sharon laughed as they left for the evening. “I must admit, you do know how to impress a lady.”

“See?” Steve waved his arm out. “If you’d just give me a chance I _knew_ I’d make an impression!”

She laughed a little more and pulled him away from the curb before he had a chance to hail a cab. Steve didn’t get a chance to ask what she was doing. Sharon tugged gently at the sides of his jacket to bring him closer. 

“You made an impression long before this, Steve,” she said and then guided him down so she could kiss him. Sweet and tender, and when she smiled at him again she teased, “But don’t get _too_ used to this.”

Steve scoffed and hung his head in admitted defeat. 

“I give up,” he chuckled. Kissed the top of her head and then got them a cab. 

That wasn’t the only thing he did on Valentine’s Day either. He also brought a small box of chocolates to school with him that day.

“For me?” Bucky had asked when Steve handed him the small box of Hershey Kisses. “What for?”

“For Stupid Cupid’s Day, of course,” Steve told him. “From one dork to another.”

To be fair, it’s not unusual for Steve to get candies and cards for his closest friends on Valentine’s Day. He’d sent them to Sam and Maria and Tony and Pepper as well, just like he does every year. It only felt right to include Bucky this time. 

“Gee thanks, narc,” Bucky scoffed. He laughed though. A real laugh and a real smile. “Now I feel bad. I didn’t get you nothin’. Oh! Wait!” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a box of Conversation Hearts. “Me and Nat get ‘em for each other every year.” He shook some out onto his palm and started going through them. “Ha! Here, you can have this one.”

He handed a yellow one to Steve. One that said _hot stuff_ on it. 

“You’re too kind,” Steve chuckled. 

“Hey.” Bucky’s eyes shined like he had some wiseass comment to make, but instead gave him an exaggerated shrug as he opened the box of chocolates Steve gave him. “I try.”

There was a cheesy grin on his face when he tossed a piece of candy into his mouth which was chased away by a cringe and a gasp after a few chews. 

“Ow,” Bucky mumbled. 

Steve sighed. “Is your tooth _still_ bothering you?”

Crinkling his face, Bucky sucked on the inside of his cheek a bit and, like Steve figured he’d do, shook his head. 

“‘S’not that bad,” he muttered. 

Just like he’s been doing whenever Steve catches him fiddling with his tooth like that. Which happens pretty much every time they see each other.

They seem to have traded their Thursday nights for Monday and Wednesday afternoons. After just a few times meeting before class, it just sorta unofficially becomes their own routine. Twice a week, they meet for about an hour before their class for lunch and to just hang out. They’ve done homework together and studied together and worked around both awkward and easy conversations and even sat around playing cards. One time, Steve suggested playing chess.

“You gonna bring in a whole chess board?” Bucky teased. 

Steve scoffed and pulled out his phone. “No. But we can do it on this handy little device.” 

“Oh! Look at you, grandpa,” Bucky laughed. “Livin’ it up in the twenty-first century.”

Steve loves it when Bucky forgets to be nervous and lets himself open up to being that playful smartass again. It does happen, from time to time. Steve catches a glimpse of Bucky being unguarded, and he relishes in every second of it. 

Steve has found himself a little less nervous and a little more excited for Mondays and Wednesdays to come around. They’ve been progressing relatively nicely. Slowly, but steadily they’ve been discovering their relationship in a brand new way. They’re learning how to be friends. How to sit and talk and just be together in a more comfortable arrangement. It’s never completely easy and they run into plenty of bumps in the road, but it is becoming less difficult even if they avoid certain things like the plague. 

Except for the occasional dirty joke or innuendo -- though Bucky still holds in a lot of those smartass comments he used to let roll out with ease -- they don’t talk about sex. At all. Neither of them bring up their past relationship, even if a few of their conversations have started with _remember that night_ or _how ‘bout the time_ and then crumbled away with broken words and fractured voices. They definitely don’t bring up the kiss from the night of Steve’s exhibit. Steve’s not sure how Bucky’s handling it, but he assumes he’s just pretending it didn’t happen. Even if, sometimes, when they fall into a round of silence, it’s all Steve can think about. About the way Bucky looked at him -- looked at him like he just couldn’t help himself -- just before he leaned in and pressed their lips together. 

For some reason, and Steve hasn’t really been able to figure out why, Bucky doesn’t like to admit when he’s been contacted by a customer. Steve can always tell when he is though. Bucky’ll check his phone and immediately get flustered, _especially_ if it means he needs to leave. Like he’s now worried that Steve’s going to be offended by what he does. 

“Bucky,” Steve had said one time after class. “It’s… you know it’s okay, right? I’m not gonna get mad at you or anything like that.”

“Oh.” Bucky looked at his phone as if he was shocked that Steve noticed anything at all. “Yeah. I mean. Yeah. I know. Um… yeah.”

Steve hasn’t said anything about it after that. 

Touches are still off limits. Most of the times. Every now and then a pat on the back or an arm around the shoulder is something Bucky will permit. Sometimes a little more. But he always pulls away and Steve does what he can to respect that. That one’s always difficult, no matter how hard Steve tries to remember. Touching Bucky is just so natural. Steve feels so drawn to him -- a hand on his knee, a pet over his head, a soft caress -- it almost seems wrong to have to hold back no matter how innocent it is. It almost causes a physical ache inside of Steve now that he and Bucky spend more time together. 

They always walk to class together now. There’s always a bit of distance between them, but they’re together and that’s what matters to Steve. Bucky uses the time outside to smoke and, oddly enough, asks Steve before lighting up. Steve hasn’t ever said no, but… he does wonder what Bucky would do if he ever did. 

Class is now exceptionally better than it was the first few weeks of the semester. Even Bucky’s other friends notices the change. 

“You guys seem to be doing a lot better,” Kate had said when the two of them were alone by the vending machines during a break. 

“What?” Steve asked, even if he didn’t really need her to clarify. 

“You and Bucky. You two have a fight or something?”

“Uh.” Steve fiddled with the cap of the water he’d gotten. “Or something. I dunno. Why? Did Bucky say anything?”

“No. He’s a pretty closed off guy.” She put her money in the machine and got herself a drink. “But I’m sure you know that. You know him the best. He was pretty bummed for a bit there. He’s… I dunno. Happier now, I guess.”

Happier seems a bit too strong of a word to describe it. Content feels more appropriate. Sure, there’s none of that playful bickering and easy flirting between them that there was last semester. Bucky no longer teases Steve with nibbled on lips and batting eyelashes. He doesn’t act out for that dominance he craves with sassy remarks and bratty behavior. Well, not usually. But sometimes -- _sometimes_ \-- Bucky will push for Steve’s dominant hand. Sometimes he’ll let a _tiny_ bit of those desires -- whether it’s boredom or need or something in between -- peek out. He might start doodling or pretend to play the drums with his fingers all while sneaking little glimpses over at Steve as if trying to discreetly get him to notice. Steve knows those rare moments need to be handled carefully. Treated like treasured glass he can’t ever afford to drop. One slight crack can damage the whole thing.

“Okay, okay,” Steve’ll chuckle, letting his voice hold _just_ a pinch of authority. “That’s enough, Bucky. Do your work.”

Bucky usually closes his eyes and breathes out softly as though some inner turmoil is leaving with that breath. 

“Okay, Steve,” he’ll say and then get back to work. 

So they’re not how they were last semester, but they’re also not stiff and still. They’re not plagued with silence and discomfort as they awkwardly steer through labs avoiding even letting their fingers touch. They’ve seems to reach something of a good balance. Or an okay balance. Something in the middle. 

It’s after class that’s seen the most change, and Steve thinks that’s mostly due to the buffer of having Bucky’s other friends around. Not only does Bucky wait for Steve, he makes a point of bringing him out with him and his friends. That’s still when Bucky’s the most animated, the most comfortable. Steve’s still pretty sure some of it is an act, but after what Kate said, it can’t all be. 

Admittedly, chatting with Bucky and his friends after class has seen Steve losing track of time on more than one occasion. Which means, on those occasions, he’s late meeting Sharon for coffee.

“I’m so sorry, Sharon!” he ends up saying several times when he shows up late. “I completely--”

“Lost track of time,” she finishes for him. Tight smile on her lips. “Again.”

Steve sits down across from her with no coffee of his own. If he’s going to spend any time with her, he can’t waste any of it waiting on line to get one. 

“I know.” A knot pulls tight in his stomach with her looking at him like that. Not quite angry, but definitely not pleased. “I’m sorry. I really am. I dunno why this keeps happening.”

After taking a sip of her coffee, Sharon gives him a long, thoughtful look. “It’s because you like talking to Bucky.”

That knot gets even tighter when she says that. “Well, sure, but, I like talking with them all.”

“Yes.” She nods. “But you like talking to Bucky.”

They say nothing more on the matter. Steve changes the subject to the reading they have to do for their class. He sets a timer on his phone after that so it doesn’t happen again. 

Okay, maybe Steve and Bucky aren’t exactly _just_ friends. Maybe they’re not _more_ than friends either. Maybe there’s really nothing to call them at all. As much as he wishes things could have been different between them, he’s coming to accept that it just wasn’t meant to be, so anything Bucky’s willing to give to him, he’ll gladly take with open arms and treasure it. Whatever they are, Steve is happy with it. 

Steve is happy with how his exhibit went and he’s happy with school and he’s happy with his friends and he’s happy with Sharon and he’s happy with Bucky. 

***

“So,” Sharon says as he meets her in the hall after their English class. She waits until he gets the door closed behind him. “Did you get approved?”

Smiling, Steve gives her a thumbs up. “Yep. Enthusiastically, even.”

This week, they’ve had to pick a topic for their final papers. A topic which first needed the approval their professor. Steve’s chosen to do his on the use of mythology in pop culture. He’s actually pretty excited about it. 

“All right!” She holds out her hand for a high-five. Sharon was approved for hers -- on gender stereotypes -- earlier in the week. “Now we just have to get it all done.”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve grunts. “I guess that’s the harder part, huh?”

An outline is due in two weeks which means they really have to get started on their research right away. 

“I’m afraid so,” Sharon sighs and loops their arms to lead them down the hall. “But I have an idea.” 

Steve grins. “And what’s that?”

“Well, you’re working till five, right?” Steve nods. “So how about we meet at the library when you’re done? We can get started. Maybe get some dinner afterwards.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” Steve agrees. 

They’ve just gotten to the doors and Steve reaches out to push them open. They’re met with a frigid gust of wind strong enough they need to cover their faces. It’s been deliriously cold out the past few days. February ending with quite the bang. At least March starts this weekend. Spring is just around the corner and hopefully, with it, warmer weather. 

Once they’re not being attacked by the freezing winds anymore, both Steve and Sharon lower their arms and share a laugh. 

“So,” Sharon says as they walk. She has another class to get to so they’ll be parting as soon as they get to the corner. “We’re on then? We’ll meet at the library a little after five?”

“Yep.” Steve adjusts her scarf a little so that it’s covering the bit of her neck that was still showing. She looks down at it and finishes fixing it for herself. Then smiles at him. “That sounds perfect.”

“Great.” She kisses him quickly and then shivers under her coat. “Try not to freeze before then!”

Chuckling, Steve advises her to do the same and then they part ways. It really is ridiculously cold out. Enough that there’s even less people on campus. Seems that some have taken the weather as an excuse to not come in. Steve can’t really blame them. He wouldn’t mind being curled up under a blanket at home instead of making his way across the better part of the school in the blistering cold. 

By the time he reaches the art department, Steve’s cheeks are numb and he’s shivering all over despite his many layers and he can barely feel his fingers. He needs to take a minute or two to just stand inside and warm up before he can make his way back to the office. 

Normally, Tuesdays and Thursdays see Steve assisting one of the larger art classes, but since it’s been cancelled he’ll just be working in the offices today. Because this isn’t a day Steve usually works in the office, it’s a lot slower so he’s mostly been making photocopies and sorting through mail. It’s a real treat when one of the professors asks him for help taking down one of the displays in the hall and putting a new one up. In fact, that’s one of Steve’s favorite things to do outside of assisting in a class. He loves getting an up close and personal look at all the work and being one of the firsts to see the new stuff going up. 

Steve’s making small talk with the teacher he’s helping -- who apparently went to see his exhibit this past weekend -- and they’ve just finished sorting through the work that’ll be returned to the artists when Steve’s stomach starts to growl. Loud enough that it interrupts the conversation. 

He’s unusually hungry today. Actually, it’s probably not all that unusual since Steve tends to at least grab himself a cup of coffee before heading over here. The only reason he didn’t today was because of the cold weather. Now that his stomach is actively trying to become a part of the discussion, he’s really starting to regret that decision. 

Even though Steve would really rather not go back outside before it’s absolutely necessary his belly begins insisting that it is. So within thirty minutes, he’s taken a few orders from others in the department and is headed back into the cold to go to the student center. 

It’s actually not all the crowded in there. Class times and the weather have given Steve that luck, and there’s only a short line at Starbucks. He’s only waiting there a few minutes -- a few people have gotten on line behind him -- when he hears two familiar voices. 

“I’m really sorry, Bucky,” Natasha says. Sounds to be standing maybe a person or two behind Steve. “I had no idea I’d have to do it today.”

“No, I know,” Bucky responds. “‘S’not your fault. I’ll… I’ll figure somethin’ out.”

“Do you wanna just reschedule? I can go with you another day.”

Bucky groans. “No. If I don’t go today I’ll end up puttin’ it off forever.”

“Can I help you?”

Steve looks up and blinks. Realizes after a second that the cashier at the counter is speaking to him. He smiles politely and puts his orders in and stops rudely eavesdropping on Bucky and Natasha’s conversation. They’re still chatting about something -- Steve’s still trying not to listen -- when he moves to the side so that the person behind him can go and hears his name. 

“Hey, look, it’s Steve!” Bucky says brightly which has Steve reacting before he can stop himself. He turns just in time to see a strange emotion shudder across Bucky’s face. As if he’s shocked himself by pointing Steve out at all. He recovers quickly and smiles. “Hey, Steve.”

“Hi, Buck.” Steve nods and smiles at Natasha. “Natasha. How’re you guys?”

Bucky points to the coffee orders being placed on the counter. All of which belong to Steve. 

“Better than you maybe,” he chuckles. “Need a pick-me-up?”

Steve scoffs. “It’s not all for me.”

“Please,” Natasha says. “We don’t need another Clint Barton running around.”

The person ahead of them gets his order and they move up to put theirs in while Steve still waits for a few more things. When Bucky orders himself a chocolate chunk muffin, he gets a pinch in the side from Natasha. He yelps and grumbles and then reluctantly changes that to banana nut bread. 

“You’re going to the _dentist_ ,” Natasha reminds him. “You really want to stuff your face full of chocolate right now?”

“No, ma’am.” He mutters a bit to himself and then turns a playful glare on her. “Thanks to _you_ I gotta go by myself though.”

“Don’t push me, James,” she replies with quick flick of her hair. “I already _told_ you I’d go another time if you wanna re-schedule.” Natasha then looks over at Steve as though happy to keep him in the loop if that means tossing her best friend under the bus. “Bucky has a dentist’s appointment today.”

Though he’s already figured that much out, Steve flicks his gaze to Bucky and smirks. 

“Finally,” he deadpans. 

Bucky grumbles and sorta ducks his face down into Natasha’s shoulder when Steve lifts his eyebrows in response. 

“Exactly,” Natasha agrees, though still gives Bucky a sweet pat on the head. “I was supposed to go with him, but I have to make up an exam today.” She leans her head against his. “My Bucky doesn’t like to go to the doctor by himself.”

Lips set in a line, Bucky’s cheeks are all red when he lifts his head and narrows his eyes at her. 

“Thanks for that.”

“Oh please.” Natasha waves him off. “At least you’re not as bad as Clint. He only goes kicking and screaming.” She laces their fingers and taps the top of his hand. “You’re fine as long as you have someone there for a little bit of support.” 

Blushing again, Bucky averts his eyes, but doesn’t argue that. In fact, he sorta sighs as though just accepting it as just the truth. 

The last of Steve’s order is just being placed down on the counter. He grabs the cardboard trays of drinks and paper bag at the same time Bucky and Natasha receive their order as well. 

“Uh, so, you have no one to go with you?” Steve asks as they step away from the counter together. “To the dentist, I mean?”

First taking a sip of his drink, Bucky shakes his head. “No. My best friend bailed on me.” Natasha rolls her eyes. “And no one else is around. I’ll just have to suck it up and stop actin’ like a baby.” 

He’s trying to be nonchalant about it. Act like this is really not that big of a deal, but Steve can see the real apprehension there. The nerves that twitch at the corners of his mouth and the fear that flickers like candlelight in his eyes. Bucky’ll do this on his own if he has to, but he’d really rather not.

“Oh,” Steve says as they walk for the doors. “What, uh, what time is your appointment?”

“Uh, four-thirty,” Bucky answers. “So I gotta book it right after my last class to make it there on time.”

“Always waiting till the last minute, aren’t you?”

“Hey, come on!” Bucky huffs. “I made the appointment, didn’t I?”

“Yes, yes.” Steve can give him that. Not to mention the fact that he’s about to face this on his own when he definitely doesn’t want to. “You’ll be okay?”

They’re about to part ways. Steve needs to get back to the art department with all this stuff and he already knows that Natasha has an exam to make up and that Bucky has one more class to get to. They still take a moment to pause right before they head outside. 

“I, y’know, yeah.” Bucky shrugs and chews his lip and taps his toes. “Nothin’ else I can do.”

“Okay.” Steve nods and goes to wish him luck and instead finds himself saying, “I can go with you if you want.”

The air goes very still around all three of them. They all have just stopped right in front of the doors causing a sort of pile up behind them. Some people might mutter a few colorful phrases as they go around them which is probably why Natasha is suddenly flipping the bird. To be honest, Steve can’t really tell anyway. He’s too focused on Bucky. Who’s just staring back at him like he’s both shocked and thrilled at Steve’s offer. Neither of those emotions really get the chance to reconcile as they battle within him and Bucky just drops his gaze. 

“You got work,” he mutters. “Don’t you?”

“I can leave a little early.” 

“You…” This sort of hope, relief even, breaks across his face like the start of a new day. “You’d really come with me, Steve?”

“Sure, Bucky,” Steve replies. Tries not to smile too hard. “I’ll go with you.”

“You really, _really_ don’t mind?” Bucky asks again as though he’s afraid to let his hope get ahead of reality. 

“I don’t mind,” he assures him. “If you want me to go with you, I’ll go.”

The breath Bucky releases from his lungs is mixed with something of an anxious giggle. His hands even tremble a little as he runs fingers through his hair. Next to him, Natasha rubs his back while she reassures him. Tells him he doesn’t have to go alone now. 

“He _really_ didn’t wanna go alone,” Natasha tells Steve. “He would’ve,” she adds when Bucky makes a face at her. “But he didn’t want to.”

“I know, I know,” Bucky whines with a slight jerk of his knee. “I’m a big fuckin’ baby.”

“Nah.” Steve rustles up his hair a little. “You should see my friend Tony. He can run a his own _billion_ dollar company, but tell ‘im he needs a check up? Forget it. Whines and complains the _whole_ time.”

Bucky chuckles. “I’m okay with regular check ups and stuff. I gotta be for--” He cuts himself off there and stumbles over the starts of a few words before picking up again. “Uh. I mean. It’s just… stuff like this.” He shudders. “Makes me all… icky.” 

“Icky,” Natasha repeats. “It’s a grown up term.”

“Of course it is,” Steve says.

“Shut up,” Bucky mumbles. Then peers up at Steve. “So, you’re really sure?”

“I’m really sure. Meet me outside of the art department after you last class. Just text me when you’re on the way, okay?”

“Yeah!” He clears his throat and says, softer, “Yeah. Yeah, thanks. Seriously, thanks, Steve.”

Natasha gives the back of his shirt a little tug and tells him that they’re both going to be late. Which reminds Steve that he also has somewhere he’s supposed to be. Bucky once again thanks Steve while Natasha gives him a smile -- though it’s a bit difficult to read how she feels about all this -- and they go their separate ways after once again confirming that Steve is okay with going along and just two hours laters, Steve is sitting in a waiting room with Bucky.

It’s easy to see why he didn’t want to go by himself. Ever since walking in, Bucky’s been fidgeting and bouncing his knee and pulling at the collar of his shirt. Even while he was filling out paperwork, he’d tap the end of the pen against the clipboard he was using and click it open and closed over and over again and even started doodling in the corner of the paper until Steve told him not to do that. 

Now, every time the nurse opens the door to call a patient in, Bucky tenses and pales, and somehow looks both disappointed and relieved at the same time that it’s not his name being called. 

“Bucky,” Steve says softly when he starts chewing on his fingers. Not soft enough though since Bucky nearly jumps out of his seat. “It’s gonna be okay. They’re not gonna take all your teeth out or anything.”

Dropping his hands into his lap, Bucky groans and slouches down in the chair only to bolt right back up again when the nurse comes back out. She doesn’t actually call anyone this time, instead going around to the receptionist’s counter. 

“I know,” Bucky mutters. “I dunno what the hell is wrong with me.”

Steve chuckles. “Nothing. A lot of people are afraid of doctors. Dentists especially.”

Lips twisted, Bucky looks over at him and sighs. “Are you?”

“I…” Steve shrugs. “I don’t really like the dentist, no. But I’ve sorta gotten used to having to go to all sorts of doctors. You gotta remember, my first surgery was when I was a little kid.”

“Oh.” His face falls. “That’s right. I…” He shakes his head. “What’d you do to… not be…” Pink touches Bucky’s cheeks. “...scared?”

Steve smiles. “Well, Mama used to--”

“Barnes?” They both look at the nurse in the doorway. “James Barnes?”

For a few seconds, Bucky just stares at her like he’s considering leaving. Maybe even just pretending he has no idea who James Barnes is. So when Steve says he’s right here, Bucky looks at him as though he’s completely betrayed him. 

“Go on, Buck,” Steve encourages. He give Bucky’s shoulder a soft, supporting squeeze. “You’ll be fine.” 

Before Steve can take his hand away from Bucky’s shoulder, Bucky wraps his own around Steve’s fingers. Holds on tight and then takes in a deep breath. Letting it out, he stands and starts to go towards the door -- without letting go of Steve’s hand. 

“Bucky, I--”

But Bucky takes a few more steps and still doesn’t let go. Without looking back, he even gives the slightest of tugs to Steve’s arm. Not saying another word, Steve just gets up and goes with him. Holds in a smile -- both amused and honored -- the whole time. 

The nurse is kind and soft spoken as she gets Bucky all set up and settled in the chair. Offers the same sort of encouragement Steve’s been giving. _Lots of people are nervous_ , she says. _Don’t worry. Dr. Sonjin is wonderful_. She’s only with them for a few minutes before they’re left to wait for the doctor in the room with all the intimidating instruments that Bucky’s attempting not to look at. 

“Say something,” Bucky says after just a minute or so. 

“Stop looking at that stuff.”

He turns away from the tray of tools next to him. 

“Say something else.”

“I’m making pasta primavera tonight.”

For Sharon, but he leaves that part out. It’s her favorite and since Steve’s canceled on her -- rearranged their plans is how he tried to put it -- he feels the need to make it up to her. He’s promised her a bottle of her favorite wine as well. Though she claimed she wasn’t mad, she didn’t exactly sound overly pleased with him either. Steve can’t really blame her. 

“How’d you make that?”

“Pasta and lots of veggies--stop looking at that stuff.”

Cheeks flushing, Bucky quickly looks away again and trains his gaze at the ceiling above him. He opens his mouth but before he can say anything the doctor comes in. Bucky immediately tenses up, but still manages to make polite conversation with him as the doctor asks normal routine questions. Apparently, Bucky hasn’t been to the dentist since high school, to which Dr. Sonjin mocks offense and makes Bucky chuckle a little. 

“Okay, James,” Dr. Sonjin says. “Let’s take a look and see what’s giving you trouble.”

The second he starts putting surgical gloves on, Bucky’s eyes fall right back to the tray next to the chair and whatever tension he lost while talking comes back twice as hard. Steve can’t be sure, but he thinks he even hears Bucky whimper as he watches. 

Though he has no idea if this is even allowed, or if it’s even going to be well received, Steve leans in and murmurs in Bucky’s ear, “I told you to stop looking at that stuff. Be good, Bucky, okay?”

Eyes going wide, Bucky looks at him, unblinking and shocked. For a moment, Steve’s sure he’s crossed a line. Pushed too far in the familiarity and now the damage has been done. Damage that might be irreparable.

Until Bucky closes his eyes and breathes, “Okay, Steve.”

When he looks at Steve again he’s still nervous and he’s still anxious, but now there’s a calm sort of determination mixed in there as well. Steve’s direction giving him something concrete to focus on. Something to hold on to. Bucky likes to be good. Want to be good for someone. Craves it, even. If that’s what it takes to get him through this without panicking, then he must be okay with Steve doing it.

His lip quivers a little when Dr. Sonjin rolls his stool back over and tells him to open up. The nurse did say that the doctor was a good one and cracks jokes as he goes on with his exam. Must sense Bucky’s unease -- he must get that a lot -- and even pokes a few jokes about the tooth fairy making a killing off of his teeth. Bucky laughs with fingers still shoved in his mouth. 

“Okay,” Dr. Sonjin says when he finishes. Tells Bucky to spit in the sink and sit back again. “Everything looks pretty good. Looks like that wisdom tooth is pushing against your molar so we’ll take some x-rays and see about getting that out today.”

He’s already setting things up to do just that while Bucky stares at him like he’s going to throw up. Steve leans forward and puts a hand down on Bucky’s wrist. Bucky, as though forgetting he was even there, lets his gaze wander over to him. 

“It’s okay, Buck,” Steve murmurs. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

Bucky blinks and says, “I… I’m not looking at the stuff.”

Smiling, Steve gently touches the bottom of Bucky’s chin. “I know. You’re doing really good.”

After the x-rays, which Steve needed to leave the room for -- Dr. Sonjin promised Bucky he’d be coming back in just a few minutes -- Bucky’s given the option of just having the problem tooth removed or the top and bottom on the same side of his mouth since the doctor says it might end up being a problem soon as well. Bucky chooses to have them both removed today, though it’s a very reluctant and whiny decision, and Steve is actually pretty sure Bucky’s physically restraining himself from flying out of the chair and running out. 

“All right.” Dr. Sonjin holds up a q-tip looking tool while the nurse gets a few other pieces set up. “This is gonna numb your gums and then we’ll give you some novocaine.” He helps Bucky put it between his cheek and gums. “Give that a few minutes and your cheek’s gonna start feelin’ real fat.”

As the doctor and nurse get ready, Steve watches as Bucky’s chest rises and falls with each deep breath he takes. He keeps alternating between squeezing his eyes closed to keep his fears away and trying to keep them open to face them until he takes a glimpse at Steve when Steve puts a hand on his knee. Steve offers a comforting smile and then realizes that Bucky has his hand open. He steps forward and slips his fingers between Bucky’s. The second he does, Bucky squeezes and stares up at the ceiling again. 

Within a few minutes, Bucky’s gums are numbed enough for a shot of novocaine -- two shots, actually -- and Dr. Sonjin gets to work. The hand in Steve’s starts to shake, and tightens. 

“Hey,” Steve says quietly. Bucky’s squeezed his eyes closed again, but they peek at Steve when he talks to him. “You asked me before what I did when I little and had to go to the doctors all the time. Mama used to tell me the story of Oisin and Niamh of Tír na nÓg.” 

It’s an old, Irish story about Oisin, a mortal, who falls in love with the fairy goddess, Niamh, and travels to live with her in Tír na nÓg -- a magical land of eternal youth and happiness. Steve has just reached the part of the story when Oisin, becoming homesick after a few years, is given a magic horse to travel back to Eire only to discover that three hundred years have actually passed when Dr. Sonjin is telling Bucky that he’s all finished. 

“Lean over the sink to rinse your mouth out,” he instructs. “You’re still all numb so you’ll get it all over you if you don’t.”

Bucky listens but he still does end up with water tinged with a bit of blood all over his chin. Steve chuckles as the nurse hands Bucky some paper towels to clean off. 

“That… that wasn’t so bad,” Bucky admits, though it sounds like he’s talking with a whole bunch of marbles in his mouth and that just makes Steve laugh even more. Bucky scowls at him. “Shut up.”

Dr. Sonjin has him rinse a bit more then gives him gauze for his mouth. After a few instructions on follow up procedures, Bucky takes care of his bill, and then he’s all done. 

“See?” Steve says as they’re leaving. “You did great. Not as bad as you thought, right?”

Bucky’s got his hand pressed to the right side of his face and he’s keep poking his finger into his cheek like he’s trying to check whether or not it’s still numb. 

“Mm-mm.”

“That’s gonna take a bit to wear off, Bucky,” Steve chuckles. “But you can keep talking if you want. It’s a little adorable.”

Snorting, Bucky tells him to shut up again. 

“I mean it,” he laughs as they reach his car. “You sound cute.”

Bucky’s rolling his eyes, but when they get settled in the car, he does turn to Steve and tilt his head a bit. He struggles a little to make himself sound normal and isn’t all the successful. 

“How, um… how’d that story end?”

“Oisin and Niamh?”

First pulling away and starting to drive, Steve tells Bucky the end of the story. How Niamh warns Oisin not to touch the ground, but after deciding to return to her he falls off the magic horse when he stops to help some people along the way. When he touches the ground, the three hundred years catch up to him and he dies. Bucky’s mouth falls open so fast the gauze almost topples out of it. 

“What?!” he exclaims. “That’s… no… that…” he struggles to get out. “That’s horrible!”

Steve chuckles. With Bucky’s words all slurred, his outrage over the story is that much cuter. 

“Well, it’s an old fairytale. A lot of them didn’t exactly have happy endings.”

“But… but…” Bucky whines a little. “They didn’t get…” He has to wipe some drool from the corner of his mouth. “They didn’t get to be together!”

“No, but they were together for three hundred years,” Steve says. “Mama used to say not to be sad that it was over, be happy that it happened. I think she used to tell me that story when I had to go to the doctor because there are good times and bad times in life. And…” Steve smiles. He actually hasn’t thought about this in a really long time. “And just because the good times seem really short, doesn’t mean they are. There’s no such thing as everlasting happiness, but there’s always happiness to be had.”

Bucky shifts in his seat and looks out the front window. For a while he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even check his phone when it goes off.

“Steve?” he says a few minutes later, although it still sounds more like _S-h-teve_ and Steve needs to hold in another chuckle. 

“Yeah, Buck?”

“Go ahead. You can laugh,” Bucky permits. “I owe you.”

Smiling, Steve pats Bucky’s thigh. “I told you, you sound cute.”

“I am cute,” he mumbles. 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “You are cute.”

It’s quiet again, for the rest of the way back to Bucky’s place. When they get there, Natasha and Clint are already waiting outside for him and immediately start laughing when they hear him talk. 

“I can’t win,” Bucky grumbles before getting out of the car. He looks at Steve and then starts fiddling with his fingers. “Um… thanks, uh, thank you, Steve. For… doing this. It was… real cool of you.”

“Of course. No problem, Bucky.” He hands him the small envelope of extra gauze. “Don’t forget that.”

Bucky takes the envelope from him and goes to leave, but hesitates. Just before he goes, he turns back again. 

“I just…” Bucky sighs and starts again. “You were right.”

“Right?”

“About… I’m just… I’m glad. That we’re… friends.”

Before he can say another word, Bucky pushes the door open and rushes out of the car. He barely gets the door closed in his haste, just manages to latch it, and hurries to his friends. Natasha and Clint wave to Steve before he drives away with a smile on his face and his heart beating like wisps of fluffy cotton candy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there and welcome back! Once again my profound apologies for the ridiculously long wait between updates. I've been running into a lot of... burnouts, I guess is the best way to put it, but I do promise you this story _will_ be completed.
> 
> On that note, here's the deal. This chapter I actually wrote a bit differently than normal. Usually I write straight through. This time I wrote the last half before the first half and realized, when finishing up the first half that the first half alone was a chapter in and of itself. So this is what's happening. Since the total word count came out to be _only_ 40k, I'm splitting them up into two chapters. The next chapter is completely done and I'll post that in a day or so. ((The only reason I'm not posting them both right now is bc sometimes when I did that with my other WIP there would be some mix ups with Ao3 notifications and it would get confusing))
> 
> Okay so... yeah, I really hope you enjoyed this part and as always I appreciate your continued patience ((i swear i try as hard as i can to get these chapters done so much faster)).


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so... this literally picks up right where the last chapter left off!

Steve rushes around the kitchen as he gets things ready for the pasta primavera. He had to go to two different stores for the wine he promised he'd get and that just made him even later getting back home from Bucky's and now it's a few minutes past seven and he's just gotten the water boiling as he finishes chopping up the first batch of vegetables he needs for the meal. He curses his life when he spills olive oil all over his shirt in his haste and hurries to change it. Steve's still in his bedroom when Sharon gets there. 

"Hey!" he greets, still buttoning up his blue and white plaid shirt. "Sorry. It took two trips to get the wine and I almost couldn’t get it. But I did!" Steve kisses Sharon's cheek as he helps her out of her jacket. "And then I got oil all over my shirt. So I changed it." He rolls his eyes at himself. "Obviously. So..." Steve shakes his head and chuckles at Sharon's soft grin. "Anyway, dinner's a _little_ late."

"Okay," she agrees. Heads towards the kitchen. "I'll help."

"No, no!" Steve loops their arms and escorts her the rest of the way. He pulls out a chair and she sits. "I'm the one who canceled on you and then was late getting everything done. You just sit here.” He rubs her shoulders for a few seconds and kisses the top of her head. “Put your feet up. I'll take care of everything."

Surprisingly, Sharon doesn't put up any argument. Not even playfully. She just nods and Steve gets the wine out of the fridge to pour them both glasses. He hands Sharon hers and Steve taps their glasses together before they take their first sips. Sharon smiles and chuckles softly as Steve goes back to cooking. 

They chat as he does. About their day and their other classes and the assignments due in their shared class. Steve asks if she wants to go to the library tomorrow to make up for cancelling for today. She says maybe. They talk some more and they sip their wine and Steve does dishes as he cooks so there's less of a mess when they're finished with dinner. He offers Sharon a taste of the pasta. Asks her if she wants it cooked any further -- she doesn't -- and she tells him how her mother used to throw pasta at the wall to see if it was finished cooking. 

"We used to have leftover marks on our kitchen wall," she tells him as Steve makes her a plate and places it down in front of her. "Just these little stains that I used to pretend mapped out a secret way to a hidden world that only _I_ could read."

Coming to join her with his own plate, Steve laughs. "Did you ever make it there?"

"I spent a whole afternoon digging a hole in my backyard once. I was completely sure that was the entrance. Ended up damaging a water pipe and flooding the whole lawn."

"Oh no," Steve chuckles. "Did you get in trouble?"

She nods. "Had to spend the next day in my room. But that was obviously because I was kidnapped by magic pirates."

"Obviously."

Sharon grins. "Where else did all the water come from?"

Laughing along with her, Steve can easily picture a much younger version of Sharon running around with a newspaper hat on her head and a blanket tied around her shoulders charging into the fray of imaginary pirates with a sword made out of paper towel tubes in her hand. 

"You were always a bad ass, huh?"

She shrugs. "I'd like to think so."

Sharon is looking at her food when she says that. And keeps looking at her food even after she says it. Steve watches her for a moment as she pushes some food around and eats a bit more without saying anything else.

"Are you okay?" Steve asks quietly. Something feels off. Something _more_ than just irritation of him cancelling on her. "Is everything alright?"

Taking another sip of her wine, Sharon gives him a long, meaningful look before putting her glass down and smiling at him. She nods. Not telling him that everything is fine. More like the opposite. More like she's about to tell him what's _not_ fine. 

"Steve, we need to talk."

There's an immediate slump to his shoulders, those four dreaded words sitting heavy upon them. The back of his throat goes dry and there's only thing he can think to say.

"Don't," he whispers. "Please, don't leave me."

She reaches across the table and gently takes hold of his hand. Sharon's thumb skims the top of his knuckles, a soft, soothing gesture, but she doesn't deny that that's what she's doing. 

"Is this... is this because of today?" Steve asks. "I'm... I'm so sorry I canceled on you, Sharon, it's just that--"

"Bucky needed someone to take him to the dentist," she finishes for him. "Like you said. I understand that. And... I understand that he means a lot to you, so no. No, it's not because of today." When Steve goes to say something, she adds, "Not _just_ because of today." 

Steve shakes his head. "I can... I can fix this, Sharon. I can. I'll--"

"No, Steve, listen." She takes his hand in both of hers now. "We both agreed this wasn't serious right now. That we'd take it slow and see what happens. And I think this is it. My marriage officially ended last summer, Steve. I _need_ to know I can make it on my own. And you... I think you need someone to take care of. Someone who wants you to take care of them."

"Sharon, I--"

"I really like you, Steve," she interrupts. "And I don't want this to be the _end_ of us. Just the end of... _this_."

Re-positioning their hands so they're now laced together, Steve lifts hers up and kisses the back of it. A hard, strong emotion pushes against his chest. Something between the urge to argue and the urge the cry. Tears of acceptance for something he does know she's right about no matter how strongly he wants to deny it. 

"I do think we could've been really good together, Sharon," he murmurs. "I like you so much."

"I think so, too," she agrees. "In different times, maybe."

He hasn't let go of her hand yet. "You'll... stay and finish dinner, right?"

"Of course." He lets go now. Lets her take her hand back. "And I'll see you in class."

"And..." A tremble passes through him. He really doesn't want to lose her. "We'll be okay?"

A smile pulls up on her lips as she pats his hand. Warm and reassuring. 

"If my ex and I can be okay, there's no reason we can't be. You're an amazing man, Steve Rogers. Can I ask you something?"

"Sure." Steve nods. "Anything."

"How long have you been in love with him?"

Stomach dropping to his feet, Steve's eyes fall to his plate. There's no need for her to clarify. No reason for him to play dumb. _You need someone to take care of._ He pushes pasta around with his fork though it offers no help or comfort. Steve shrugs one shoulder.

"A few months," he whispers. "I guess." Steve, filled with a hasty need to clarify, quickly glances up. "But that's not... Sharon, I really hoped it would work with us." He gestures between them. "I swear. I wasn't trying to--"

"I know," she says. "But it couldn't have. For _both_ these reasons."

She's right. Steve knows she's right even if he wishes she was wrong. Maybe in another time in their lives -- a few years from now when Sharon's ready for a more serious commitment or somewhere in the past before Steve met Bucky -- there's a place meant just for them. A place for them to flourish into something great and wonderful and lasting. But that's not now. And Steve can't change that. 

"I'm sorry, Sharon," he murmurs. 

Sharon holds his hand again. "Me too, Steve."

She does stay until they finish dinner. Even helps Steve do the dishes. They talk, a little awkwardly, a little comfortably. Sharon doesn't seem to be in a _rush_ to get out of there though and they end up in Steve's doorway chatting for nearly twenty minutes until the conversations officially becomes an uncomfortable, dry back and forth of used up words in an attempt to stretch out time. 

"Well," Sharon says. "I guess I should go."

"Yeah." The glands in Steve's throat are tight, his voice strained. "Okay."

A few tears glisten in Sharon's eyes as she steps up close to him. His name gently rolls off her lips and she wraps him up in a tight hug. He hugs her close. Rests his head over hers and breathes her in one last time before they officially break up. 

"It'll be okay, Steve," she murmurs into his shirt. "I promise."

"'Kay," he breathes. "I... I am sorry, Sharon."

"I know." She pulls away only enough to run her hand over his chest. "I do hope you get him one day."

Steve doesn't say anything to that. He can't. If he opens his mouth now, nothing will happen but a breakdown of tears and broken weeping. So he nods. Nods in appreciation. In hope that whatever happens, will be good. 

Sharon gives his chest one last tap before leaving. She tells him she'll see him in class and Steve watches her get to the end of the hall before going back into his place and closing the door. He just stands there for a second, a little dizzy and lost at what to do next. Making his way over to the couch, he lowers himself down and sits as the tears burn his eyes, wiping the ones that escape away. Steve pulls out his phone. He scrolls down for Sam and then decides he doesn't want to get into the particulars of what's happened right now. He considers calling Tony, who'd meet him for a drink without even asking why, but ends up just plopping the phone down on the coffee table. 

Instead of calling anyone or doing anything -- which he will do, when he's ready -- Steve curls up on his couch and just lets himself be sad.

***

It’s surprisingly nice out for the end of March. Nice enough that most people around campus have elected against taking even sweaters or sweatshirts with them. After a few tortuously freezing days at the end of last month, spring seems to be sprinkling over Brooklyn quickly this year. Hopefully, it stays like this. Bright sunshine and warm breezes. Steve wouldn’t mind winter ending on such a positive note. 

He's spent most of the past few weeks bordering between being sad and mourning what he and Sharon might've been and knowing that ending things is for the best. Seeing Sharon in class has been both awkward and perfectly fine. The first few classes were a little difficult to navigate as they settled into the new roles of their relationship. It's gotten easier and better as they've gotten used to it. They're evolving, growing, and, like Sharon's said, they'll be okay. 

The whole campus is filled with people enjoying the nice weather. Students and even faculty mill around the front steps of the buildings and stroll down the sidewalks and lay out on the quad. Steve even gets several random smiles as he makes his way to the lily pond with his bookbag slung over one shoulder and a plastic bag in his hand. He’s has gone by the spot before going to and from class, but he’s never actually made the effort to just sit down and appreciate it. Which, as he approaches it, he thinks might’ve been a mistake. 

Even after a pretty harsh winter, the place is actually quite beautiful. There’re neatly trimmed hedges surrounding flower beds, though it’s too early for any blossoms yet. Trees line most of the area, their leafy branches reaching down towards the ground like curious fingers. In a month or so there will be gorgeous pink flowers covering most of them and the stone courtyard will be covered in their petals. 

The pond itself is surrounded by a rectangular, stone ledge which people tend to sit on. On the far end is a fountain which hasn’t been turned on since the cold weather started. Japanese goldfish swim in the waters. 

Wooden benches outline the area as well. One of them in particular catches Steve’s attention since the person he’s looking for is slouched on it. Steve smiles.

Bucky has his head resting on the back of the bench, his face tilted slightly up towards the sky. He’s managed to snag himself a spot in the sun, too. Golden light shimmers around him. Kisses warmly upon winter worn skin and glows softly in his hair. Both his arms are stretched out across the back of his seat as well, a cigarette burning away between two of his left fingers. They don't normally meet up on Thursdays, but today is special so last night Steve texted Bucky to see if he wanted to meet. It was Bucky who suggested this spot, pointing out how nice the weather was supposed to be.

Before Steve approaches, Bucky flicks some of the ashes away and, without opening his eyes or lifting his head, brings the cigarette to his lips to take a drag of it. When Steve goes over to the spot Bucky adorns, he just watches him for a few seconds in his peaceful, sun-soaked moment before nudging his ankle with his foot. 

“Hey,” Steve murmurs as Bucky, maybe a little startled, sits up. “You falling asleep over here?”

It takes Bucky a second or two to adjust to sitting up straight, and when he does, he glances up at Steve and grins. 

“Steve!” he greets happily. “You made it!” Then, Steve’s teasing remark must finally register, since Bucky scoffs and says, “Not everyone goes to sleep before primetime television is over, grandpa.”

“Ha,” Steve deadpans as he takes the spot next to Bucky. Bookbag in his lap. Plastic bag on the books. “You’re hilarious.”

“I do what I can.” Bucky eyes the plastic bag. “What’s that you got there? Peanut butter and jelly with the crusts cut off?”

Grinning, Steve picks the bag up and places it on his other side. It crinkles under his hand, whispering noises that make Bucky even more curious. Steve shrugs. 

“Nothing,” he says. “Just something for later.”

He gets a distrusting and suspicious look for that answer, Bucky’s lips curling up in a disbelieving smirk. Steve chuckles and places an innocent hand over his chest. 

“What?” he asks. “What’s that look for?”

“You did that on purpose,” Bucky accuses. 

“Did what? I just got here!”

Bucky snorts and shakes his head. “You got somethin’ there and you’re not showing me on purpose.”

“Oh.” Steve laughs. “Is that what I’ve done?”

Scoffing, Bucky turns away from him with his arms crossed over his chest. He’s mumbling something -- even a bit in Russian -- and holding onto a tight smile. He side eyes Steve for a second before dramatically sweeping his gaze away from him again with a huff.

Something warm and fuzzy buzzes through Steve’s body. He wants so badly to tell Bucky to behave. To be a good boy and maybe he’ll get to see what’s in the bag. Not that Steve is going to actually withhold it. What’s in the bag is _for_ Bucky anyway. But they’re still working on drawing that line between the acceptable and unacceptable between them. Steve doesn’t want to go messing that up by crossing one too soon. That’s assuming he can ever step over that particular one sometime in the future anyway. He hasn’t done anything like that since the dentist and a few gentle nudges in class is different. 

That doesn’t mean they can’t still be playful in a similar manner. In a way Bucky’s opened the door to. So, Steve nudges Bucky’s ribs with his elbow. Pokes him in just the right spot that makes him gasp and jerk away with a held in laugh. But instead of giving a little leeway, Bucky holds himself tighter. His shoulders, his neck, his jaw are all stiff as he keeps facing away from Steve. 

“Oh, really?” Steve teases. “Is that how you’re gonna be?” He picks up the bag again and takes a peek inside of it. Acts like what’s in there is the greatest thing in the world. “That’s too bad. You might really like what’s in here.”

His teasing gets Bucky stealing a glimpse at him again. Bucky twists his lips into something of a mix between a scowl and a pout, and if he’s not the most adorable thing ever Steve doesn’t know what is. 

“You know, narc,” he mumbles. “You’re real mean.”

“ _Mean_?” Steve chuckles and flicks the bag. “I beg to differ.”

This time, Bucky lowers his arms a bit and starts to face Steve again. Eyes trailing down to the bag Steve’s taunting him with, he flicks his eyebrows up.

“Somethin’ I… might like,” Bucky repeats. Softly. Like maybe he’s contemplating how he should go about playing his next move. “Can I… see it?”

“Depends.” Steve rubs his chin. “Am I still mean?”

Bucky gives him the most endearing look ever. Lip tucked under his teeth and eyes all wide, almost weepy, he shakes his head. 

“You’re the _nicest_ guy _ever_ ,” he remarks with a little wiggle of his hips. “Like in the _history_ of ever.”

Steve snorts and bops Bucky’s nose. Snickering, a flush runs across Bucky’s cheeks as he tucks his chin in and then peers at Steve through his eyelashes. An expression that reads _please_? and Steve can’t hold out any longer. 

“Okay, you win,” he sighs. “But only because--” _I love you so much._ Steve cuts himself off and clears his throat.

“Because I’m awesome,” Bucky proclaims proudly when Steve doesn’t say anything else. “You know you can’t resist my charm.”

Steve smiles and doesn’t tell him that that’s probably true as he takes the white box out of the bag. He places it between them and keeps his hand over the lid. 

“Now, are you _sure_?”

“Oh come on!” Bucky huffs. “Stop being a punk.” When Steve flicks his eyebrows up, Bucky swears under his breath and then gives Steve that too-pure-to-be-true look again. “Please?”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re lucky I like you.”

“I know I am.”

He says that so softly that Steve’s sure he’s not meant to acknowledge it, but the second the words leave his mouth, Bucky is blushing and looking down at his lap. All Steve wants to do is reach over and place a hand softly over Bucky’s head. Hold him close and tell him that _he’s_ the lucky one here. Instead, he curls his fingers in and doesn’t move. 

It’s quiet for a long, drawn out moment, the edges of tension beginning to creep around them. Steve can’t let that happen this time. Not today. It’s too special. He releases the fist he’s been holding and taps the top of the box. 

“So,” he says softly. “You wanna see?”

It takes one more moment of Bucky sniffing and fiddling with his fingers before he looks up and gives Steve a soft smile. 

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Okay.”

“Okay.” 

Steve lifts the cover to open the box and Bucky looks inside of it. His eyes go wide with excited surprise. Looks back up at Steve with a bright smile. 

“Cupcakes?”

Four cupcakes to be precise. Different flavors and so beautifully decorated it’d almost be a shame to eat them. Except there are from the best bakery in Brooklyn and Steve’ll fight anyone who says otherwise and it’d be an even _bigger_ shame if they didn’t get eaten. They’re each neatly tucked carefully in the box as they regard the open world with sweet-toothed promises. 

“Yep,” Steve answers. “Can’t pull the wool over your eyes, can I?”

Bucky gives him the stink eye before glancing back at the cupcakes. “So, is this, like, an old person thing? You just carry around cupcakes?”

“Not exactly, jerk,” he replies. Bucky still hasn’t figured out what’s going on right now and why Steve’s shown up today with a box of treats. It really shouldn’t be surprising. Bucky’s still not convinced about all of this -- that Steve’s not going to just walk out on him -- and that’s okay. Steve will just keep showing him over and over that he won’t. No matter how long it takes. “They’re for you.”

He can hear the quick inhale as Bucky begins to connect the dots. His eyes -- round as saucers and filled with nervous shock -- stay on the box of cupcakes though Steve doubts that’s what he’s seeing right now. Bucky folds his lips in and is so still Steve’s sure he’s stopped breathing. All around them, the world goes on. People sitting around the lily pond and chatting or studying while over here, in their little corner, time stands still. 

When Bucky finally releases the air in his lungs, he slowly lifts his gaze to Steve’s, his expression caught between surprised and almost frightened. The way he usually looks when Steve does something like this for him. Like maybe he’s worried he’ll blink and the gesture will suddenly be gone. A figment of his imagination that never really existed in the first place. 

Steve offers him a reassuring smile and murmurs, “Happy birthday, Bucky.”

“You… remembered my birthday.”

That falls somewhere between a question and a bewildered statement. Bucky only mentioned his birthday once or twice in passing over the last few weeks. 

“Yeah.” Steve just smiles for him. “And, y’know, I figured since you don’t drink and it’s your twenty-first and all, you can… get drunk on sugar.”

Bucky blinks at him before a smile breaks across his mouth. A laugh bubbles up through him and Bucky covers his face with his hands. 

“Oh man.” He peeks over his fingers before dropping his hands into his lap with another laugh. “You’re a loser, grandpa. Did anyone ever tell you that?”

“Yeah. You.” Steve bumps their shoulders together. “Frequently.”

A light blush runs through Bucky’s cheeks, but he gives Steve a shrug as if saying he still stands by calling him a loser. This time and any others. Nibbling on his lip, Bucky looks back at the cupcakes still in the box Steve’s holding. 

“Go on,” Steve offers. “Take one. They’re yours.”

“Well…” Bucky’s eyes scan over the treats. “What’s what?”

“Uh-ah.” He shakes his head. Flicks his eyebrows and gives Bucky a wink. “Now where’s the fun in that? Just pick one. You’ll like them all.”

“I dunno, narc,” Bucky says even though he’s already wiggling his fingers over the box as he figures out which cupcake he wants to try. “That’s askin’ an awful lot of trust.”

There’s little surprise in Bucky choosing the one with vanilla frosting and topped with a whole chocolate covered strawberry. That one, Steve knows, is made from chocolate batter. Bucky first plucks the strawberry off the top and bites into it. Hums as he does. A bit of chocolate smears right under the right corner of his lip. He must not notice, or doesn’t even care, since he just pops the rest of the fruit into his mouth and then takes his first bite of the actual cupcake. His eyes go wide and he even stop mid-chew.

“Holy shit.” Crumbs fly out of his mouth with his exclamation. “This is fuckin’ delicious.”

Steve chuckles while Bucky swallows what’s in his mouth. “C’mere. You got a little…” 

He reaches out with his thumb to wipe the chocolate away from Bucky’s mouth. Bucky leans into his touch. Closes his eyes and sighs softly. He then pulls away, so does Steve, and they both clear their throats. 

“So, you, uh…” Bucky takes another bite. “You gonna have one or what?”

“Oh, I dunno. They’re yours.”

A smirk pulls on the corner of Bucky’s lip. He sucks a bit of frosting off of his finger and very dramatically sweeps his hand away from his mouth. 

“You askin’ for my permission, Stevie?”

Rolling his eyes with a scoff, Steve puts the box on Bucky’s lap. “Nope. They’re all yours.”

There’s a tug on his sleeve, even a strong pull as though Bucky thinks Steve might leave. But there’s still a playful sparkle in his eyes as he gives Steve that adorable, sheepish look of his and holds out the box to him. He even selects one of the cupcakes -- this one has chocolate frosting -- and offers it to Steve. 

“You’re too kind,” Steve says as he takes it.

“I know it.” Bucky swipes his fingers through the frosting of the cupcake he’s just handed to Steve. “I’m _way_ too cool for _you_ anyway,” he teases, and at the same time shocks the hell out of Steve by wiping that frosting across Steve’s cheek.

Steve gasps and jerks away while Bucky just breaks into a fit of giggles. As though what he’s done is just the funniest, most clever trick in the world. Holding in his own laughter, Steve wipes the back of his hand across his cheek to clean the spot. 

“You think you’re funny,” he states. 

“Please,” Bucky says between chuckles. Like Steve did for him earlier, Bucky reaches out to get whatever frosting is left on his skin for him. “I’m _hilarious_.”

“And here I am, bringing you cupcakes on your birthday.” Steve shakes his head in mock disappointment. “When will I learn?”

Something about Bucky’s expression changes. It’s slight -- hardly even noticeable. But there’s this peaceful glow to him right now as his giggling tapers off and he settles into a soft smile. Bucky just looks at Steve with that smile for a moment before placing a hand on his arm. 

“Never,” he murmurs. “I hope. Thanks, Steve.”

Steve puts a hand on top of Bucky’s. “You’re welcome, Buck.”

He gives Bucky’s hand a soft squeeze. Then notices how he and Bucky have inclined towards each other. Slowly. Their foreheads are close to touching and Bucky’s eye have dropped to Steve’s mouth. The small space between them might as well be the Grand Canyon. Steve aches with how much he wants to press his lips to Bucky’s. Even just once. Just a birthday kiss. 

But no. No, Steve’s promised himself. He’s going to be Bucky’s friend first and foremost. Show him that it’s possible. That he’s going to be someone Bucky can count on -- good times, bad times, in between times. Bucky needs to know that he’s worth being loved with or without sex. So Steve pulls away. Bucky does too. Runs his fingers through his hair before shifting over a bit. 

“Yeah, so…” Bucky lets out an awkward chuckle. “I should, uh, get goin’. I got one more class to get through.” He’s getting to his feet. Slings his bag over his shoulder and tucks the box of cupcakes gently to his chest. “This should be illegal.”

Steve shakes his head. “What? What should be--”

“It’s my _birthday_!” he exclaims. “I should be excused from adulting.”

“Adulting?” Steve laughs. “Is that what you kids are calling it these days?”

“Hey!” Bucky points a scolding finger at him. “I’m twenty- _one_ now. I’m a certified adult.”

“You’re probably gonna wanna give that certificate back before you know it.”

“I gotta go to Medieval Lit,” he grumbles. “You can have it back already.”

Steve chuckles. “You don’t like that class?”

“Eh, I dunno.” He shrugs. “The Divine Comedy is alright, but Beowulf? The Canterbury Tales? “ Bucky crinkles his face in mild disgust. “No thank you. But!” He sighs. “If I’m gonna graduate next year I gotta take it. Cause, y’know, _I’m_ an adult now.” Before Steve can comment on that, Bucky asks, “You done for the day?”

“With classes, yes. I’m working till five.”

Bucky nods and looks at Steve like he might want to say something, but gets no further than opening his mouth. He nods one more time before giving Steve more thanks for the cupcakes and turning to leave. Only he doesn’t get very far. All he does is take a few steps and then stops. Although Steve wants to ask if there’s anything wrong, he’s learned enough about Bucky over the past few months to know that sometimes even gentle prodding can simply cause him to close off. So Steve just waits. Sees if Bucky will continue onward or turn back like he might be struggling with. 

After what feels like hours, Bucky goes to take another step, and, instead, does turn back around. Steve, thrilled at the idea that whatever struggle just went on ended with Bucky choosing to turn to him, smiles and gives him his full attention. 

“Uh, Steve, I…” Bucky’s mouth forms a few nonsensical words. He clears his throat to try again. “My friends are taking me out tonight. For my birthday.” Rolling his eyes at himself, Bucky lifts the box Steve gave him. “Obviously for my birthday. I mean… we’re going to Fridays for dinner. S’no big deal or nothin’.”

He just stops then. Doesn’t say another word even though he continues to stand there and look at Steve as though he expects him to answer some unspoken question. If there is a question there, and Steve’s belly tickles with the idea of what it might be, he doesn’t want to make assumptions by answering the wrong way. 

So he says, “Oh yeah? That sounds like fun.”

Bucky nods, his head absently bobbing up and down for a second or two. “Yeah. Um. Yeah, we’re goin’ to the one in Times Square. Cause that makes us hot shit an’ all.” He laughs at himself. “I mean. So. Yeah. If you’re not… it’s just gonna be a bunch of twenty-year-olds and stuff, so you probably don’t…”

He’s so focused on the words stumbling out of his mouth that he doesn’t even realize when Steve gets up off the bench. When Steve touches his shoulder, Bucky looks completely shocked that he’s so close. Steve takes a step backward. Just in case. 

“Bucky,” he murmurs. And knows he has to word this well. “I’m not busy tonight. I could… if you want… maybe, I could stop by?”

The relief that settles around Bucky is clear by the smile that lights his face. Of course, this is Bucky, and Bucky then tries to hide that excitement with a cough and a shrug and a sassy smirk.

“I _guess_ that’d be okay,” he says. Holds in a giggle and flashes that grin of his. “Someone’s gotta keep you young, right?”

Squaring his shoulders, Steve narrows his eyes enough to make Bucky hold back another laugh and glance down at his feet. He peers back at Steve through his lashes and smothers one more chuckle with the back of his fist.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah, Steve?”

Steve surprises him by dropping his hand down on his head and messing up his hair. Yelping, Bucky pulls away from Steve and gives him a wide-eyed, scandalized look. Mouth quirked up and hair sticking out all over the place.

“Hey.” He combs fingers through his hair to fix it. “Hands off the merch, pal.” 

Chuckling, Steve holds his palms out and backs away a bit more. Concedes with a nod of his head. Just in case, on the off chance, Bucky really is serious about that. But Bucky clears his throat and shakes his head. 

“I’m only… I didn’t mean…”

“Okay,” Steve says. “I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Oh… no. You…” Bucky smiles softly. He takes Steve’s hand, which is still up between them, and gives his fingers a squeeze. “You’ve never made me uncomfortable, Steve.” 

There’s never been anyway to be fully sure of that. Steve’s, on occasion, said or done things that he was sure made Bucky uncomfortable. Even in just his desire to hold him and take care of him when their nights were almost over. But what Bucky’s said now, those words, they float along the edge of Steve’s heart. Fills him with dizzying warmth. 

“I’m…” Steve holds back a laugh. “I’m glad, Bucky.” 

They stand there together, Bucky’s hand wrapped gently around Steve’s fingers, for a few more moments. Wind rolls over them. A cool, soothing presence of life still going on and will move them forward. 

“I should go,” Bucky murmurs. 

“Okay.”

Neither of them move though. They just continue to gaze at one another, the air between them becoming more and more alive as each second ticks by. 

“I really… I gotta go…” Bucky says again. 

“I know,” Steve replies. “You have class.” 

“Class,” he repeats. “Right.” Bucky removes his hand and takes a step back. “I’m gonna go now. But… seven.”

“Seven?”

“O’clock. Tonight. That’s… if you wanna come.” Bucky takes a quick behind him like he’s deciding whether or not to flee. “Um. That’s not, like, a closed invite or nothin’. You can ask Sharon if you want.”

Stomach tightening, Steve just offers a smile. “I’ll see you later, Buck.”

Bucky waves once as he turns and finally makes his way to class. Tonight, Steve knows, he’s going to have to tell Bucky what happened between him and Sharon. He’s not even really sure why he hasn’t already. It’s just… things have been going well with the two of them as friends, and Steve doesn’t want Bucky to think that just because Steve is no longer seeing anyone else that he expects him to jump back into bed with him. What Steve wants -- _needs_ \-- is for Bucky to know he’s worth so much more than just some guy Steve gets to fuck once a week. 

They’ve become friends. Slowly, but surely, their relationship has progressed from the awkward stage of long, tense silences to the mostly comfortable ease of joking around. But it’s still new. Still raw. And Steve’s very aware that just one wrong move can destroy it all. 

***

For a Thursday evening, the restaurant doesn’t have as many people in it as Steve anticipated. Which makes it simple enough to find Bucky and his friends. The hostess knows immediately who Steve’s talking about and directs him there. They’re at a table tucked in the back. Even if the hostess hadn’t shown him where to go, Steve would have no problem finding the right spot. 

There’re foil balloons with the number twenty-one on them tied to the back of a chair. On the table are several centerpieces -- also with the number twenty-one -- and sitting at the balloon decorated chair, is Bucky. With pins and buttons that proclaim him to be celebrating his twenty-first birthday and a paper crown on his head. Lopsided. 

Bucky’s surrounded by a group of people, only two of which Steve knows. Sitting on either side of him are Natasha and Clint. There’s a big smile on his face as he laughs with his friends -- eyes bright and sparkling. It’s a bit too loud in there for Steve to really catch whatever it is Bucky says, but he makes everyone at the table burst out laughing, and Steve, even not knowing what was said, can’t help the laugh that bubbles through him as he watches. 

It’s Clint who spots him, maybe a minute later. He nods his head in greeting before nudging Bucky with his arm. Having been in the middle of saying something, Bucky ignores him and simply answers with an uninterested shove back. Eyebrows lifting, Clint first flicks Bucky’s ear and wraps an arm around the front of Bucky’s neck. Before he has a chance to react, Clint his pressing an exaggerated kiss to Bucky’s cheek. Laughing, Bucky pushes him off and the second he’s facing Clint, Clint gestures with his thumb towards Steve. 

When Bucky’s eyes sweep over to him, Steve lifts his hand in a wave, and Bucky throws his arm up in the air to wave back. 

“Steve!” he exclaims. Big, dopey grin on his face which then fills with a blush as everyone at the table turns to look at him. Slowly bringing his arm back down, Bucky mumbles, “Shut up.”

Natasha pats his back while Clint gets out a chuckle at Bucky’s expense before waving Steve over. 

“Hey, dude,” Clint greets as he stands and moves into the empty seat next to him while leaving the one next to Bucky open.

“Clint,” Steve answers with a nod of his head and then nods at Natasha as well. “Natasha.”

“Hello, Steve Rogers,” Natasha responds with a polite smile. 

“Guys!” Bucky announces and jerks his thumb at Steve. “This is my buddy, Steve.”

As Steve takes the seat the Clint offered, Bucky names all the people at the table with them. He points them all out -- Peter, Harry, MJ, and Gwen -- one by one and Steve gives a wave and a polite hello.

“Now don’t judge him by his old age, guys,” Bucky says with that patent, smartass smirk of his. “Grandpa narc over here is _actually_ kinda cool.”

“Yeah?” replies Gwen. 

“Oh yeah.” Bucky shrugs. “Dude _did_ cut up a pig for me.”

Steve smirks and bobs his head. “I _did_ cut up a pig for him.”

“We… we _are_ talking about a science class, right?” Peter asks. 

Instead of answering that, Steve gives an exaggerated shrug which earns a whole table full of laughs. There’re knots all bunched up in Steve’s stomach as he sits there with a whole group of Bucky’s friends. Maybe this is how Bucky felt when he was introduced to all his friends at Steve’s exhibit. But Bucky, being Bucky, was able to pull off an air of confidence, even in the face of their strained relationship. Steve, on the other hand, is just able to manage a bit of polite small talk, but is content to mostly just sit and listen to the exchange of happy conversations. 

Like Steve and his friends, there’s a lot of teasing going on. Jokes at each other’s expense and witty comebacks and a few puns -- most of which are made by Clint which prompt his friends to throw napkins at him almost every time. There’re inside jokes -- apparently Bucky broke his arm a few years ago trying to jump over a divider pole and Clint is always sneaking stray dogs into their place even though no animals are allowed and Steve is happy to learn that Natasha is actually well verse in Dungeons and Dragons. 

“Your inner dork is showing, Nat,” Bucky teases, and then winces when she jabs him in the arm without batting an eye. 

“And just what is _wrong_ with Dungeons and Dragons?” Steve asks. 

“Do you play, Steve?” Natasha asks.

“It’s been a while,” Steve says. “But yeah.”

They talk about it for a moment or two, Natasha even going so far as suggesting that Steve play with her some day, and Steve’s heart feels like it might burst into thousands of glittering pieces at the offer. Natasha means so much to Bucky and to have her approval, even in the _slightest_ of ways, is an honor. Steve nods and laughs and _would_ accept the invitation except he happens to notice the way Bucky’s staring at him. 

There’s this complicated expression on his face. Several emotions crossing it at once and never really settling on one. 

“What?” Steve asks. “What is it?”

Bucky twists his lips. “I didn’t know you played Dungeons and Dragons.”

“Oh.” Is that what the look’s for? “Like I said, I haven’t done it in a while, but yeah.” He grins, but Bucky just goes on giving him that look. “What’s wrong?”

“What?” Bucky shakes his head like he doesn’t realize he’s been staring like that. “No. Nothing. I just… I didn’t know that.” The corners of his mouth turn down into a small frown as though not knowing something as trivial as Steve playing a game means something greater than it should. He recovers quickly though. Throwing a saucy grin at Steve and saying, “I guess you’re an even bigger loser than I thought.”

Scoffing, Steve would retaliate, but a server comes just at the perfect time to interrupt. As if knowing that Steve’s comeback has been rendered useless, Bucky gives him a cheesy smile and then starts conversing with their waitress. 

“Guess what today is!” he exclaims. 

The young lady laughs and presses the tip of her pen to her lips. “Lemme guess, St. Patrick’s Day?”

Bucky snaps his fingers in an _aw shucks_ kind of way. “Dang. I thought it was a surprise.”

The waitress laughs and asks if they’re ready to order. No one objects and everyone puts an order in which includes several trays of appetizers. Right before their server walks away, Bucky calls her back. 

“Wait, wait!” He snatches the drink menu and quickly scans it. “I’ll have an Ultimate Berry Long Island Iced Tea, too.”

Steve lifts his head and catches eyes with Natasha and then Clint. The three of them share a look. Only the three of them. No one else at the table finds it unusual that Bucky’s ordering a mixed drink. They even appear excited that he _has_ ordered it. Which only makes Steve see how much it really did mean that Bucky told him about what happened with his dad and the drinking that followed. Clint and Natasha, and now Steve, seem to be the only one’s Bucky’s ever told. 

“You got it,” the waitress says as she jots the drink order down.

“Aw, hey!” Bucky whines. “You’re supposed to id me!”

The young lady laughs, so does the rest of the table -- including Steve, Clint, and Natasha albeit not as much as the others. 

“Okay then,” she chuckles. “Can I see some id?”

“Yes!” he answers excitedly as he digs out his wallet. “Yes, you can!”

After he’s officially id-ed for the first time legally -- Bucky pulls his elbow in with a victory grin -- he goes right on talking with everyone as though it’s perfectly normal that he’s just ordered something he’s swears he never drinks. Their drinks -- sodas, two beers, and Bucky’s mixed drink -- come within just a few minutes. The waitress hands Bucky’s over with an extra smile. She even wishes him a happy birthday.

At first, Steve thinks Bucky’s just not going to drink it. Maybe even give it away to someone else. Both Clint and Natasha seem to be waiting for the same thing. Only that’s not what he does. No, Bucky pulls the drink over to him and takes a long sip of it. He pulls his mouth away from the straw just long enough to crinkle his nose before taking another sip. 

“Well,” he says after that second sip. “That’s enough for me. Who wants this?”

Steve can feel the tension around Natasha and Clint release like a deflating balloon, even if they _do_ pretend by fiddling with their phones that it's not happening. 

“Aw man!” Harry exclaims, oblivious to anything other than Bucky forfeiting the drink. “I really thought you’d at least lift your ban today!”

“It’s your twenty-first!” Peter concurs. “Live a little!”

Bucky chuckles. “Yeah, I’ve lived plenty.” 

He makes the comment softly, almost self-deprecating. As though he’s still holding onto the mistakes of his past so tightly -- those last few moments with his father, the drinking and chaos that followed, probably even Brock -- like he’s afraid to let them go, and Steve wants to scoop him into his arms and assure him that it’s okay. That he can release them from his tight grip and not fall right back into being the person who made those mistakes. 

Natasha, who Steve’s sure also senses that slight dip in Bucky’s mood, moves her chair closer to his and gently runs her hand down his back. His lifts his chin and smiles gratefully, his head inclined slightly her way. Bucky takes a glimpse at Clint, and, without having to look Steve knows they’re sharing a private moment as well. 

“Anyway.” Bucky clears his throat and holds the glass up. “Seriously, who wants it.”

“Well, if you’re not drinking it,” MJ says. “Send that on down!”

Taking that literally, Bucky makes the brilliant decision to attempt sliding the glass all the way across the table. It almost makes it. Gwen -- who’s right next to Natasha -- is able to catch it right before it would tip over and spill everywhere. Instead, only about half of it spills. All over Gwen’s hand, and possibly even her lap. 

“Oops,” Bucky laughs as Gwen shakes her hand off. “My bad.”

“Yeah,” she scoffs. “Very smooth.”

“Hey!” He points to the crown on his head. “No complaining. _I’m_ the king today.” 

That earns him a whole lot of silence and every pair of eyes there turning to stare at him. Until both Steve and Natasha flick the crown off his head and they all crack up as Bucky fumbles with it before securing it in his hands. 

“Wha-- no!” Bucky whines. He places the crown back on his head with a huff. “You both suck.”

“I beg to differ,” Natasha says. “I think Steve and I are pretty damn awesome.”

As she says it, Natasha is leaning over Bucky to offer a hand for Steve to slap. Steve, a little flustered with the compliment, takes a second to realize what’s happening before chuckling and giving her that high-five. Between them, Bucky is muttering that he hates them while someone else laughs and calls him full of shit. 

“I’ll give ya one thing though, Bucks,” Clint says with a clap to Steve’s shoulder. “He is pretty cool. I think we could stand having ‘im around.”

“I think that’d be okay,” Natasha agrees. 

Bucky turns his gaze on Steve and lets his eyes scan him from top to bottom as though he’s trying to assess the situation. When he finishes, he gives Steve an unenthusiastic shrug. 

“Eh. I _guess_ we can make that happen.”

“Oh.” Steve holds his palms out. “Don’t do _me_ any favors.”

Snickering, Bucky leans forward and rests his brow against Steve’s shoulder for a second. While he’s against him like that, Steve holds back the urge to pet a hand over his head or even just hold him closer. When Bucky looks up at him, there’s this a shy smile on his face. 

“I… wouldn’t mind it though. Seriously.” He lets his eyes drift down. “If you wouldn’t. Hangin’ out I mean. Like, outta school more or somethin’.”

The corners of Steve’s mouth twitch, his heart singsonging with just the thought of it. He nods and nudges Bucky’s chin. They lock eyes then, and nothing else matters. Not Bucky’s friends at the table, not the rest of the restaurant around them, not even the evening passing over them in sweet, urban susurrations. 

“I wouldn’t mind,” Steve murmurs. 

“Then it’s settled!” 

Clint is slapping a hand over Steve’s shoulder. A loud and a little painful pull back into the restaurant where there’s a table filled with Bucky’s friends and they’re all there to celebrate Bucky’s birthday. 

“What?” Bucky asks. He looks just as dazed as Steve feels. “What’s settled?”

“We’ll all hang out some time!” Clint exclaims as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “How’s this weekend? You busy this weekend?”

“This weekend?” Steve repeats. 

He understand the question of course; he’s just having a little trouble processing at the moment. The thought of seeing Bucky and his friends for no other reason than just to spend time together is both exciting and nerve wracking, especially when it’s at the behest of one of them. Clint’s enthusiasm leaves no room for doubt. He’s being serious and, by the look on Natasha’s face -- interested smirk and lifted brow -- she’s not opposed to the idea either.

“That’s, like, real soon,” Bucky says. “I’m sure Steve’s already busy--”

“I’m not,” Steve blurts. Maybe he shouldn’t. Not with Bucky’s possible objection to this, but he can’t help it. Steve wants this. Wants this so badly it hurts. “I’m free.” 

“Great!” Clint’s enthusiasm has yet to simmer down. “You should come over on Sunday. We got nothin’ to do on Sunday and we _should_ be doing something everyday this weekend.”

Though Bucky appears to understand the logic behind the statement, Steve tries to ask why, only to have the question answered before he can.

“Birthday weekend rules, James,” Natasha says. “They’re _your_ rules, remember?”

Several emotions flicker across Bucky’s face as though he can’t decide whether he wants to stab his friends or hug them or maybe even just get up and run from the table altogether. Instead of doing any of that, he just sits there for a moment, eyes tight and jaw stiff, until he comes up with a response. 

“It’ll… be cramped at our place,” he says softly. Adding a subtle glimpse in Steve’s direction. “Um…”

“You can come to my place.” Once again the words just appear in his mouth and Steve blurts them out. “If you want.”

“We want! Don’t we want, Bucks?” Clint reaches behind Steve to jostle Bucky by the shoulder. “C’mon say yes! Say yes, say yes, say yes!”

“Alright!” Bucky bursts with a giggle. Tosses his hands up like he’s relenting to the most intense peer pressure of his life. “We’ll go to grandpa narc’s place! But do _not_ blame me if we’re forced into a _Murder She Wrote_ marathon.”

“Okay, _hold_ on,” Steve chuckles. “I’m not _that_ old.” He shakes his head with another chuckle when Bucky flicks his eyebrows up. “My _grandmother_ used to watch that. _Actually_ … I think she had a crush on Angela Lansbury.”

That makes Bucky laugh so hard he almost spits out the soda he just took a sip of and actually snorts a few times, turns bright red because of it, and just laughs harder. It’s contagious, too. Once he makes that first ridiculous noise -- which prompts Clint’s immediate teasing -- Natasha falls into a series of helpless giggles and, despite his best efforts to calm himself down, Bucky just goes right on laughing. Laughing so hard it looks like it hurts even though Steve keeps on insisting it wasn’t that funny. But after a minute or two, Steve finds himself just as powerless to stop it and the laughs gathers in his own chest and he just can’t keep them back. 

By the time they finally settle down again, their appetizers have arrived and, in between a few leftover giggles, they go straight into eating and talks of things other than Steve’s grandmother’s crush. No one brings up the topic that led to Steve’s ridiculous joke, and as the evening goes on -- with laughs and teasing and a phone call from Bucky’s mom who both Clint and Natasha also affectionately call mom as well -- Steve buzzes with excitement. Though he's not sure if it's completely official yet, he can't help grinning every time he thinks about possibly spending time with Bucky and his two best friends this weekend. 

"They think they're subtle," Bucky says when there's a pile of empty plates and several empty glasses scattered across the table. "Like I don't _know_ what they're doing."

Steve can only assume he's talking about Natasha and Clint since they've just excused themselves and disappeared somewhere inside the restaurant. The rest of his friends continue chatting away about what they all plan to do afterwards. Unsurprisingly, they plan on going bar hopping. Bucky's said over and over that they can do that just as easily going back to Brooklyn while his friends insist that they shouldn't bother since they're already here. So far, as it stands right now, they're bar hopping here. 

"What?" Steve asks when Bucky doesn't go on any further than that.

"My ridiculous friends," he says with a dopey smile on his face, "are going to tell our waitress to bring a slice of cake over."

Which means several members of the waitstaff will come to surround their table and start singing their own, special birthday song. It'll draw the attention of pretty much everyone in the immediate area. 

"Are you telling me you _don't_ want to be the center of attention?"

Bucky smirks with a shrug. 

"I _suppose_ I can deal with it. Y'know..." His phone, on the table in front of him, lights up and grabs his attention. "For them," he says as he swipes up his phone and slides his finger across the screen. "I'll just have to suck it up and..." 

Bucky completely trails off as he reads whatever message he's gotten. His shoulders fall. His eyebrows pull in. There's a sudden tension that tugs at his mouth. 

"Bucky?" Steve asks. "You okay?"

"Um..." His hand trembles as his thumb moves to type something and then doesn't. Bucky puts the phone in his lap and then gives Steve a smile. Forced, Steve's sure. "Yeah. I'm fine." That smile grows a bit more authentic when he jerks his chin at something behind Steve. "Told ya."

Looking over his shoulder, Steve chuckles. Just like Bucky said, Clint and Natasha are returning, and just a few paces behind them is their waitress. The plate she's holding has that slice of cake Bucky spoke of with long, thin sparkling candles. Behind her, a handful of employees are already starting to clap their hands which immediately gets the attention of all the nearby tables. Bucky sighs as his friends start clapping along. He groans through a smile when Natasha and Clint sit back down, but the amusement on his face is very clear and very real, and as the staff gathers around them to sing their very loud, very cornball song, Bucky's hand sneaks across the table to take hold of Natasha's. At the same time, he locks eyes with Clint even though Steve's still in between them. The song doesn't last all that long and when it ends, Bucky blows out those silly candles while Steve claps along with Bucky's other friends -- even a few other tables clap. In those few moments the love between these three is so real, so _strong_ that Steve can't help but feel honored to be here with them. 

Steve is so caught up in it that he doesn't even realize that Bucky's gaze has shifted from Clint to him. When he does notice Bucky looking at him with this small grin on his lips, Steve feels that all too familiar urge rise up inside of him. He wants to pull him into his arms and kiss him and just hold him close and be a part of the love that surrounds him. When a light shade of pink touches Bucky's cheeks and he moves away to dig into his cake -- laughing with his friends and telling them all to have some -- Steve wonders, with a little dance in his heart, if maybe he already is. 

"Here," Bucky says as he lifts the fork with a piece of cake on it. "Have some."

"I dunno." Remembering what Bucky did earlier today with the frosting of the cupcakes, Steve grins. "Are you gonna get it all over me again?"

Bucky holds in a laugh and shrugs, still holding that forkful of cake out for Steve. Keeping narrowed eyes on Bucky, Steve opens his mouth. There's a mischievous smirk playing on Bucky's lips, but all he does is feed Steve that piece of cake. 

"See?" he says. "You can trust me."

"Yeah, yeah," Steve chuckles with his mouth still full. "Mm. This is pretty good."

"Cupcakes were better though."

Steve laughs. "Did you eat them all?"

"He came home with one half of one left," Natasha mumbles. 

She's very focused on them right now, and when Steve catches her gaze she gives him a flick of her eyebrows and a tight, crooked grin. The expression is somewhat difficult to read as is Natasha herself. Steve can't tell if she's wary or pleased with the way he and Bucky are interacting. 

"Yeah," Clint scoffs. "And _I_ came home to a box of crumbs."

Bucky rolls his eyes. "They were _my_ cupcakes."

"Still." Clint is stretching his arms above his head. In his hand, he's got the check. Steve didn't even notice the waitress bringing it over. " _I'm_ your best friend."

Check still in hand, Clint stands and tells everyone what they owe before Bucky has a chance to answer that, though Steve's pretty sure he hears Natasha mutter, _fight me,_ under her breath. There's a small disagreement when Bucky attempts to pay along with the rest of them, quickly settled when everyone just decides to ignore him, even if they can't help chuckling when he huffs and throws his arms over his chest. They're still talking about where they're headed after this -- seems they've narrowed it down to two choices -- when Steve figures this is probably the best time to excuse himself. 

"Alright, I'm, uh, gonna get going," Steve says softly to Bucky after settling his portion of the bill. "Thanks for inviting me."

Bucky quickly looks over at him like he wants to say something in objection. All he does is open his mouth and then close it again, nodding as he does. 

"Yeah," he answers. "You probably gotta hit the hay. Can't keep up with us youngins'."

"Well _that_ ," Steve teases, "and you probably don't want some creepy grandpa following you around all night."

"Hell no." Bucky laughs. "Can't have ya crampin' mah style."

"No, we can't have that, can we?" Steve pats his thigh and stands. "But, _you_ have a good time with your friends." He makes his voice a bit louder for that, catching the attention of the rest of them. "It was good meeting you all."

"Aw, you bailin'?" Harry asks. 

"'fraid so."

"But Sunday!" Clint exclaims. "We're on for Sunday?" 

Steve chuckles and nods. Though Clint's enthusiasm for the idea still appears completely genuine, Steve's not sure if it's actually going to happen or not. Still, he gives Clint a smile and wave to Natasha. The rest of Bucky's friends gives happy waves when Steve tells them again how nice it was to meet them. 

"Have a good time tonight, guys," he says and pats a hand down on Bucky's head. Bucky looks up at him with a smile. "Keep this one out of trouble." Bucky snorts. "Happy birthday, Buck."

Everyone shouts goodbyes as he turns to leaves and Steve waves once more over his shoulder. He only gets a few steps away from the table before Bucky's shouting for him to wait up.

"Hang on!" He shoots out of his seat and hustles over to him. "I'll... I'll... I mean... I'll, y'know, walk you out."

"Oh." Steve smiles and, without thinking, swings an arm around Bucky's shoulders as they walk towards the doors. "Having a good birthday so far?"

"Yeah." He's reaching into pocket. Steve assumes for his cigarettes and is surprised when he pulls both them and his phone out. "Um... about Sunday..."

Steve's stomach falls. "Yeah?"

"You don't gotta... I mean..." Bucky's got a cigarette between his lips and trying to get it lit as they stand just outside the doors, but the matches don't seem to be cooperating with him. "Clint gets all excited without thinkin' sometimes." He still can't get a match lit. "I'll let 'em know you're busy or something."

Watching Bucky fuss with the matches for another few seconds, Steve takes them from him and easily gets one lit. He holds it out to Bucky, who's watching him with eyes round as saucers and a smirk around the cigarette. They both fold their hands around the lighted match so that Bucky can get his cigarette lit.

As he does, Steve says, "You don't... _have_ to do that." Still leaned forward, Bucky's gaze flicks up to meet his. "For Sunday. You can... I mean, only if you _want_ of course." Realizing he hasn't quite made his point, Steve shakes his head and tries again. "What I mean is, you and your friends are _more_ than welcome to come over on Sunday. I'd... I'd like to have you over."

They move over to the side a bit to avoid the crowds going in and out of the restaurant. Bucky still hasn't taken the cigarette out of his mouth and when he does, he gets some ashes on the front of his shirt. He's wiping them away and, from what Steve can tell, trying to hold back a grin. 

"You... really don't mind havin' us on such short notice?"

"What short notice?" Steve chuckles. "What's a narc like me got planned anyway?"

Smiling, Bucky nods like Steve does have a very valid point. He takes another few puffs of his cigarette before coming up with a good response.

"Well, you could've had plans with Sharon. Was she busy tonight?"

Steve takes in a deep breath. Might as well just get this all out in the open. He probably should've told him a while ago anyway. 

"Actually..." He pauses. Tilts his head and shrugs. "Sharon and I... are... well... we agreed to be... just friends."

Bucky goes very still at that. As though he's trying very hard not to show any emotion at all when several emotions might have just hit him all at once. He looks down at his toes, which are now tapping, and flicks his cigarette away, and immediately starts to light another. 

"Oh." He doesn't have trouble lighting this one, but his hands are shaking. "Oh. Um. Wow. Uh. When... when did that happen?"

"A few weeks ago."

"Oh." Bucky's eyebrows pull in. "You didn't... I'm... I'm sorry, Steve. Are... are you okay?"

Steve grins, softly. "Yeah. It's... better this way. She's great, really. Just... we want two different things right now."

Now Bucky's eyebrows shoot up. "Oh! So... if... that means... maybe... Thursdays..." Before he even finishes the thought, he shakes his own head. "But... no, huh?"

There's a part of Steve that would love to take him up on that incomplete offer. To say _fuck it all_ and just agree and go back to being Bucky's customer again. It was fun. It was nice to have that expected company every week. Knowing that those few hours would belong to them. 

But even with this uncertainty, with not knowing what the future has in store for them, this is, somehow, even nicer. Better. This closeness. These shared moments that Steve wouldn't've had just as Bucky's customer.

"You know," Steve says. "As tempting as that is," and it is really so tempting, "I really _love_ being your friend, Bucky."

Lighting up with a smile, Bucky glances at his phone. His phone which, until this moment, Steve didn't realize Bucky has been _clenching_ in his hand. So tightly his knuckles are white. 

"Yeah?" He looks back up at Steve. Cheeks a little pale now. "You do?"

"Yeah, Buck. I do. Are you okay?" 

He's not. Steve already knows that, but he also knows there's a good chance he doesn't want to tell him what's wrong. 

"Um... it's just..." Bucky takes a quick glimpse through the doors of the restaurant. "Before the rest of my friends start dragging me to bars all night, can I... ask you for some advice?"

"Yeah!" Steve doesn't mean for his voice to reach such high volumes and call the attention of a few passersby, but it does and he hardly cares. "Of course!"

Bucky nods and looks at his phone again. He doesn't say anything though. For a long, drawn out moment, he just stares at his phone and Steve wonders if maybe he's changed his mind. Until he turns it around to show Steve what he's been looking at. A text. Probably the one he received just before his friends sang happy birthday to him. Just a short, sweet, simple happy birthday message. From Brock. 

"I don't know what to do," Bucky admits, his voice cracking at the very end there. "And I don't want anyone else to know."

"Okay." Steve stills his voice. Keeps it calm and even when all he wants to do is scream. Actually, what he'd really like to do is find Brock and knock him into the next century for doing this. _Again_. But since that's not an option, screaming would be really nice right about now. "Well, what do you _want_ to do?"

Eyes wide, Bucky shakes his head as though the idea of having to decide for himself how to handle this absolutely terrifies him. His mouth opens more than once before any words actually come out of it.

"I... I don't..." He sighs. "I _want_... to answer." He glances down like he's ashamed. "I want to tell him thank you and I want to ask him how he's been and I want him to talk to me and I want to know if I ever meant anything to him." Bucky shrugs. "And I _also_ want to answer and tell him to fuck off. But I also want to just delete it and not answer it at all." He peers up at Steve through his lashes. "I... mostly just want you to tell me what to do."

That desire of his bubbles inside of Steve. Warms him right to the very marrow of his bones knowing that Bucky trusts him enough to make this decision _for_ him. _Wants_ him to make it for him. What Steve _wants_ to tell him to do is delete it. He wants to scream it at him. Brand it across his soul to delete everything and anything that has to do with the guy. But as much as Steve wants to tell him what to do, as honored as he is that Bucky wants him to, he knows what he has to say.

"I can't tell you what to do here, Buck," Steve tells him softly. This is on him. It has to be. 

"What? Sure you can!" Bucky even nods his head quickly as though that will somehow stress his point. "You've done it before. You can! Just say 'Bucky...'" He rolls his hand for Steve to go on. "This is... this is when you tell me what I should do."

The expression on Bucky's face alone is almost enough to break Steve into doing just that. His mouth is pulled up in a crooked smile, but it's quivering like he's about to burst into tears if Steve doesn't do something and do it quick. 

"Bucky--"

"Please..."

If Steve didn't see Bucky's mouth move, he wouldn't even know he said anything at all. That one word, though, is enough to make Steve's heart begin to splinter, pieces of it spilling down like big, wet tears. Just because Steve can't tell Bucky what to do in this situation exactly, doesn't mean he can't do anything for him. Bucky _needs_ something from him. A guiding hand. An anchor. A gentle nudge.

"Okay," Steve says. "Okay, you want me to tell you what to do, Bucky?" It's a gamble, but it's all he can give. "This is what you're going to do. You're gonna _start_ by putting _that_ away." Steve taps Bucky's phone, but Bucky doesn't do anything beyond staring at Steve. "Well? What're you waiting for? Go on. Put it away."

"O-oh." Bucky blinks and looks at his phone before shaking his head and doing as Steve says. "Okay?"

"Good..." He clenches his jaw to keep from adding the boy there. "Now." Steve takes him by the shoulders and gently shakes him back and forth. "Try to relax." He holds him still now. "You're gonna go back inside to Natasha and Clint and your other friends and you're gonna let them drag you around all night long and you're gonna have a great time and _then_ you'll decide what to do about this after that." Steve is still holding onto him by the shoulders and Bucky just stares at him, wide-eyed and slacked-jawed. "Does that... help?" Steve asks. "At all?"

Closing his eyes, Bucky nods. He whispers, "Yes. I... yeah." 

Bucky nods and sucks in a deep breath. The corners of his mouth turn up just slightly as he releases the air in his lungs. Most of the tension in his body goes with it. Steve gently brushes his knuckles across Bucky's cheeks. The light touch makes his eyes open again.

"Now... what're you going to do?"

"I'm..." A blush breathes along Bucky's cheek. "I'm gonna go back to Nat and Clint and my other friends." The love Bucky feels for all his friends is clear, but the love he has for Natasha and Clint so obviously trumps them all. "And I'm gonna let them drag me around all night and I'm gonna have a great time and I'll decide what to do about that text later." He nibbles a little on his lip. "Right? That's... that's what you want me to do, right? Right, Steve?"

Holding back a snicker, Steve grins and fixes his hand to the top of Bucky's head. There's a small amount of stardust in his eyes as he looks up at him. It's there. Mixed in with the uncertainty and insecurity that Brock's message has brought to him. Steve's, at the very least, given that much to him tonight.

"That's right. You can do that for me, right?"

"Yeah," Bucky breathes. "I can do that."

"Good." Steve turns Bucky around and doesn't think before giving his butt a soft smack. "Then get to it. Go have a good time."

Bucky looks over his shoulder with a timid smile and nods. He starts for the doors to go back inside, but stops just after a few steps. His shoulders lift with another deep breath before he's twirling back around and hugging Steve. He moves fast, and so unexpectedly that he gets one of Steve's arms pinned to his side while the other wraps around Bucky's stiff and tense body. Steve catches and stops himself just before he'd press his lips to the top of Bucky's head. Instead, he lets his cheek touch against his hair. 

"Thanks, Steve," Bucky says. "I... just... thanks." He lifts his head to give Steve a cautious grin. "I'll... see you Sunday?"

Happy nerves tap dance along Steve's bones. That makes it official. Bucky and his friends are going to be coming over on Sunday. Steve smiles. 

"Sunday," he agrees with a nod. Steve taps Bucky's nose. "Perfect. Now go have fun."

He does then. Bucky goes back inside with one last wave over his shoulder before disappearing in the restaurant and Steve heads home excited, figuring he'll hear from Bucky later in the weekend. 

He's wrong. 

Around four in the morning something pulls Steve out of a deep sleep. Fragments of a dream still linger in his brain as the fog slowly begins to clear. A sound. Going off over and over again. It's very annoying actually. His phone. That's what it is. At first, Steve thinks it's his alarm getting him up for work. He even tries to turn it off a few times. But when that doesn't work, and he slowly wakes a bit more, Steve realizes it's not his alarm, but a text. More than one. From Bucky.

Sleep gives way enough for worry to slip through. Heart just starting to pound a bit, Steve sits up and clicks on the message. He reads it slowly, so his waking mind doesn't make mush of the words. 

**Bucky: Hey Narc!** Well, that's a good start. **I hope this doesn't wake u. really really sorry if it does.**

**Bucky: just wanted to tell u in case i forget that i had a real good time tonite. :)**

**Bucky: so... thanks for your help steve**

**Bucky: also**

**Bucky: i deleted that text**

Steve reads that last message a few times as a smile slowly lifts up on his mouth. Not only has Bucky texted him to let him know that he had a good night, but he wanted him to know what he'd decided to do about the text from Brock. There's nothing more than that -- nothing about how he feels about it -- but that couldn't have been easy. 

Steve's fingers graze along the keyboard. As much as he'd like to send something back telling Bucky how proud he is of him, he's not so sure that'd be a good idea. It's probably best to stay mostly neutral when it comes to this Brock situation. In fact, Steve's pretty sure he's the only one who's remained that way which is probably why Bucky came to him in the first place. Natasha and Clint would've told Bucky to delete the text. And Bucky, eventually, probably, would have listened. But that would have been Bucky listening to them. This was Bucky deciding to do it on his own. No matter what, he has that. 

So while Steve would like to tell Bucky he's proud of him, he knows it's best to just leave that alone for now. In fact, given the time, he's not even sure he should bother responding. It _is_ after four in the morning and the last text -- which Bucky sent a good fifteen after the first -- came almost a half an hour before it woke Steve up. Still... he doesn't see the harm in shooting one message back. 

**Steve: I'm glad you had a good time kid! You deserved it!**

After hitting send, Steve is about to just put the phone back on his nightstand when it goes off again just a few seconds later. 

**Bucky: oh no i didn't wake u did i?**

Steve grins and just lies. 

**Steve: No. diner down the block has a senior citizens early breakfast. 5am special. i was getting up for that.**

**Bucky: lmao u ass. srsly did i wake u?**

Chuckling at the screen, Steve decides to fess up. 

**Steve: yeah but don't worry about it. :) i'm glad you had a good time and i like knowing you got home safe.**

It takes a little longer to get a reply this time. 

**Bucky: ...still?**

Finger grazing across that text, Steve wishes he could reach through the screen and give Bucky a hug right now. Explain to him that that will never change. Maybe one day Bucky will start to believe it. 

**Steve: Always.**

Another few minutes tick by and Steve begins to worry that he's crossed a line that he didn't realized was drawn between them. He's holding his breath when his phone goes off again.

**Bucky: still on for sunday?**

Steve lets out that breath. That could've gone a lot worse. 

**Steve: looking forward to it**

**Bucky: Steve?**

**Steve: Yeah?**

**Bucky: Thank you**

"Oh, I love you," Steve whispers even though only the soft, velvet shadows in the room can hear him. "So much."

**Steve: You're welcome, Bucky**

**Bucky: g'nite grandpa narc**

**Steve: sweet dreams, kid**

By six thirty in the morning, Steve decides there's no point in trying to get back to sleep. He needs to be up by eight to get to campus to be on time for work anyway and after talking with Bucky he's been too wide awake to get back to sleep. After tossing and turning for almost an hour, Steve's given in and just gotten out of bed. He's already gotten a bit of school work done and he's taken a shower and he was gonna try his hand at making waffles from scratch, but he thought of something else instead. While that diner down the block doesn't really have a discount he can take advantage of, they _do_ make really excellent breakfasts. 

Steve has every intention on ordering his meal to go -- even though he gets tempted by the delicious looking omelettes and orders one of them instead of waffles -- but something catches his attention in the near empty diner. Sitting there with only a cup of coffee for company is Sam. He’s staring at the mug in front of him. Haunted expression on his face. He almost looks half asleep, but somehow wide awake at the same time. 

“Sam?” Steve murmurs as he slips off the stool at the counter and goes over to where his friend is. 

Sam glances up. He blinks at Steve like he’s not sure who he’s looking at for a second.

“Hey, man.” He clears his throat and shifts in his seat. “What’re you doing here?”

“I woke up early. Wanted some breakfast. Are you okay?”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

No. No, he’s not fine. That much Steve can tell just by looking at him. Sam looks as though he hasn’t slept in days, which is strange given that Steve just saw him a few days ago and this wasn’t how he looked. 

“Are you here by yourself?” Steve asks. Sam just nods. “You mind if I join you then?”

Sam touches the handle of the coffee mug, shifting it back and forth a bit before nodding and gesturing for Steve to sit. Instead of sitting across from Sam, Steve sits next to him. It makes for a tight fit, but if Sam doesn’t mind -- and he must not since he doesn’t say anything -- than neither does Steve. 

Once Steve asks the waitress to change his order for here, he just sits there quietly with Sam. Though he’d like to know what’s going on — wants to ask and make sure that Sam is really okay — Steve isn’t going to push. 

So he just sits there. Makes sure that Sam knows whatever is going on right now, Steve is here with him. He’s not alone. 

Steve glances at him to find him still staring at his coffee. It’s been long enough that there’s no longer any steam rising out of it. Sam hasn’t touched it though. The mug is still filled. 

“Where’s Maria?” Steve asks. “Is she working?” Sam pushes at the cup again and nods. 

“I… I had a bad dream,” Sam finally whispers after Steve’s food arrives. 

“Was it about… Riley?”

By the way Sam’s entire body goes rigid, that has to be a yes. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Steve offers. 

At first he thinks Sam might not want to say anything at all. If that’s the case, Steve will just sit here with Sam for as long as he wants in silence. Only Sam’s mouth quirks up. 

“He reminded me of you, y’know. A big dumbass.”

“Gee, thanks,” Steve chuckles.

“No, I mean…” Sam snickers and sorta nudges Steve with his shoulder. “Big and lovable. Always getting into some dumb shit with the best of intentions. Biggest heart in the world. Why else would he be over there?”

“Are you describing Riley or yourself?”

Sam glances up at him with a bit of a shocked expression before this honored grin spreads across his face. As though comparing him to Riley even in the slightest way is an amazing compliment. One he never expected to receive. 

That only has a moment or so to show before Sam’s entire face crumples and he sucks in a ragged breath.

“I miss him so much, Steve,” he gasps. 

Steve doesn’t hesitate. Immediately pulls Sam into his arms. He holds him tight. Close. And just lets him cry. 

“I know,” Steve whispers. “I know. I’m here, Sam. I’m here.”

There’s nothing else for him to say. Steve knows that as much as he wishes there were some magic words he could utter that would take Sam’s pain away, they just don’t exist. The wounds may have closed, but they aren’t healed, not by a long shot. All Steve can do is let Sam be Sam. Let him heal in his own way. Right now, that means breaking down in Steve’s arms for the first time in years. 

After a few minutes of tears and just letting Steve hold him, Sam wipes at his face and sits back up. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs as Steve hands him a paper napkin.

“For… for what?” Steve questions. He can’t imagine what Sam’s apologizing for. 

Sam’s on a second napkin when he says, “For all this. You don’t need to be wiping my tears right now. You got so much on your own plate.”

Steve’s heart falls a little. The way Sam says that, so nonchalant and matter-of-fact, makes him want to scream. 

“Sammy…” Steve breathes and brings his hand to his eyes. “No. You don’t… Sammy, I don’t care what the hell is going on in my life, I’m always here for you. I’m…” He sighs and hugs him again. “I’m really sorry if I ever made you doubt that or if I ever made you feel like you couldn’t come to me for anything. Because you can, okay? No matter what.”

“Yeah, but, Steve, I mean, you have school and…”

“And nothing. You think school will ever be more important than you? Or work? Or an exhibit? Never happening. You’re my best friend, Sam.”

Eyes brighter than they’ve been since spotting him here alone, Sam’s mouth curves up and he leans his head against Steve’s shoulder and sighs contently.

“Thanks, Steve,” he murmurs. “For everything.”

Steve wants to tell him that he hasn’t done anything. That being here for Sam isn’t something that takes effort or work. It’s just something Steve wants to do for him. Something he hopes Sam understand he’ll always do for him. But Steve slides an arm around Sam’s waist and hugs him. He asks the waitress to replace the old coffee with a fresh cup, and right after she does that, Sam starts nudging Steve out of the booth. 

“Alright, alright,” he teases. “You’re not as small as you used to be, you know. Give a guy some space.”

Chuckling, Steve pushes back just once before giving in and slipping around to the other side of the table. He drags his plate of food with him and suggests that Sam order something for himself.

“I dunno,” Sam says. “I don’t want to keep you. You got work, right?”

“Sammy, I wouldn’t mind spending the whole damn day in this diner with you as long as I know you’re okay.”

Sam’s eyes glisten a little. He’s doing better, that much is clear, but he’s not good yet and Steve knows that. But Sam wipes at them and nods before grabbing the menu off to the side of the table. He ends up ordering, of all things, waffles with extra whipped cream and, after eating the omelette, Steve actually orders a stack of pancakes. And picks at Sam’s waffles even though Sam keeps laughing and swatting his hand away. 

"You know," Sam says as he's stuffing the last of his waffles into his mouth. "I'm... I'm actually kinda glad you're here. And not just because you being here makes me feel better.” He pauses and smiles when Steve does. “There's, uh... something I wanna talk to you about."

"Oh yeah?" A bit of anxiety taps on Steve's shoulder. He doesn't want to pay any attention to it. He can't imagine he's done anything that would make Sam upset with him. "What about?"

"Well..." He pauses and reaches into his pocket. Sam places a small, hinged box on the table and opens in. "This."

Nestled in the soft, velvet padding of the box is a diamond ring. It glistens in the morning light, sparkling as happy beams of sunshine hurry for a look. A breath catches in Steve's throat. Sam's just pulled out an engagement ring. 

"Sam..." And, of course, he just can't help himself. "Now, I'm not saying no..."

"Oh, don't be an ass, Rogers," Sam grunts.

Steve chuckles. "Sammy, you're... you're really... you're gonna ask Maria to marry you?"

A huge smile lights up Sam's face, and for the first time since spotting him here, Steve can see the man who's been healing. The man who's let himself love again. 

"Well... yeah. I mean..." Sam turns the box around to look at the ring. "We've talked about it. Nothing big. Our families and friends. Maybe on a beach. I love her. I wanna spend my life with her. And... if she says yes..."

Steve holds a finger up. "You mean _when_ she says yes."

"Fine." He concedes to that with a raise of his coffee cup. "When she says yes, I, uh... I was wondering if you'd... be my best man?"

"Sam..." Steve breathes. He can't really believe his ears. "What about Gideon?"

Sam smiles. "I talked to my brother. He knows how close we are. He gets it. Besides, Maria and I talked about having him officiate anyway. So... how 'bout it? You wanna be my best man?"

The honor that rushes through Steve right now is indescribable. Not only is his best friend telling him he's about to get engaged, but he's asking him to be his best man. 

"I... Sam, I don't know what to say."

He laughs. "Well, you could start with a yes, you dope."

"Yes!" Steve bursts. "Yes, of course! Sam! I'm so happy for you!" The smile on Steve's face is huge. He wouldn't be able to make it go away if he tried. "When are you gonna ask officially?"

Still laughing along with Steve, Sam shrugs. "Next weekend, I think. The week _before_ our anniversary. You know… throw her off a little.”

Steve chuckles. “Always keep ‘em guessing.” 

“It's funny.” Still grinning, Sam drums his fingers a little. “We talked about it, but I'm still kinda nervous."

"Ah, please." Steve waves his hand out. "You got nothing to worry about, you know that."

"Yeah." There's a warm smile on Sam's face. As though he _does_ know there's really nothing to worry about. "So, what about _you,_ Steve?" he asks. "You know, we all thought _you'd_ be first to get married. Even after..."

He trails off there, face falling a bit into a worried pinch. Steve knows why. This has always been a sensitive and delicate topic. Even a decade later. Steve is... learning to deal with that. To change it about himself. 

"Even after..." Steve sucks in a deep breath. "Mama died."

Sam nods. "Yeah. So... Sharon? Things just... didn't work, huh?"

Well, Steve should've known he couldn't go forever without this coming up. He's been able to wave the conversation off so far, but it would seem his luck has run out. He looks down at his plate. The bits of leftovers offer no help. They know, as well as he does, avoiding it is pointless. Thanking them for nothing, Steve sighs. 

"She's really great," he tells Sam. "And if I was in a different place or if she was in a different place, I think we'd've been great together."

"So just..." Sam works out a way to put it. "Bad timing."

"Yeah," Steve agrees. "I mean... I don't think we'll ever not be friends. I don't think we messed that up or anything. So there's that. I think we just... right now we're looking for two different things."

"And you're... doing okay?"

"Sure." He shrugs. "I'm a little sad," he admits. "I really did like her. But I know it's for the best." Reaching across the table, Sam gives Steve's hand a squeeze. Steve grins in appreciation. "Thanks, Sam."

"No problem. And… what about that kid from school? Bucky?" He throws his eyebrows up. "The one you're _suddenly_ inviting to your very exclusive art openings?"

Steve groans a little, very aware of his friend's growing suspicions. "I told you. It's..."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam chuckles. "It's complicated. But is he worth the complications?"

"Well... _yeah,_ " Steve laughs. 

"Oh yeah?"

When Steve realizes that Sam is now tearing pieces of his napkin off and rolling them into little balls he groans again. This is something he used to do when they were kids. Sam is about to start tossing those at him. Asking him silly questions as he does. Until he gets the answers he wants. 

"Why?" He starts with and bounces the first paper ball off Steve's brow. "Cause he's so super cute?"

"You're seriously doing this right now?" Steve sighs. 

The next one hits Steve's cheek since he turns his head. "Because he's funny?" 

"No..." he chuckles. "I mean... yeah, he _is_..."

He gets hit on his nose. "Because he's smart?"

Steve holds in a big smile. "He's really smart, actually."

Gathering the rest of the little paper balls in his hand, Sam tosses them all at Steve's face and asks, "Because you have a big crush on him?"

Steve attempted to duck out of the way, but most of the paper is now in his hair. He's laughing so hard, that the words sort of just slip out. "No, I'm in love with him." 

All the laughing stops. His eyes go wide. Sam's eyes go wide. They sit there staring at each other for a moment before Sam leans forward.

"What'd you just say?"

"I..." Steve brings the tips of his fingers to his mouth. He can't believe he just blurted that out. "Oh shit."

"Yeah," Sam says. "That's what I thought you said." He leans back now and lets out a heavy breath. "Love?" 

All Steve can do is nod. There are a million questions running across Sam's face. Ranging from the basics of course. How? When? Where? Why? What? Going to the more intense questions. The details of the hows, whens, wheres, whys, and whats. Sam clearly wants to pick apart this new revelation. Go through the tangled up shiny, iridescent streamers one by one that, moments ago, had Steve glowing in such a confession. Only he must know that's not an option. Not now. Not yet.

"But it's complicated?" Steve nods again. "Not just... because of the age thing, I guess?"

Steve shakes his head. 

"He..." Steve needs to at least give him a little something. "Just got out of a bad relationship."

"Bad," Sam repeats the word. Plays with it a little as his mind turns over possible scenarios. "Is he okay?" 

"I don't... I don't know," he admits. "Right now I'm just trying to be his friend. Even if that's all I ever am to him. I just want him to know he's got someone else in his corner. He... I think he really needs that."

Sam nods and looks thoughtfully at his coffee. For a long, few minutes he doesn't say anything. While Steve badly wants to know what he's thinking about, he doesn't press for anything. This is a lot. Something huge, really. Something that, technically, he's been keeping from everyone. And Sam doesn't even have all the information to work with. 

"You know," Sam finally says a few minutes later. "My dad used'ta say that he fell in love with my mom lots of times. Over and over again. I never really got what he meant. Until... until I met Riley. I thought..." Sam brings his hand up to his eyes when they get misty and when it's down on the table again, Steve puts his own over it. Holds it tight and tender, and Sam grins. "I thought we'd be together forever. When he..." He doesn't finish that. "I really didn't think I'd find that again. I guess, well, I guess I didn't, not really. What I have with Maria isn't the same as Riley, but it's love. I love her. I loved him. In different ways. I realized I loved Riley one day and then one day he was gone. And one day I realized I loved Maria and then one day I realized that I what I _thought_ I was gonna do with Riley I had the chance to do with her. Sometimes I look at Maria and I fall in love with her all over again." 

Sam pauses and gives Steve's hand a gentle squeeze. "What I'm tryin'a say is, I dunno if I'd've been able to do that, fall in love again, I mean, if I didn't have you in my corner. You may have been far away, Steve, but you were there. On the phone when I couldn't sleep. Emailing me pictures of things just because you thought I'd like them. You were there, Steve. And if you're in this kid's corner, too? Whatever you two are? He's lucky."

Warmth gathers in Steve's chest. Some sweet and honeyed emotion that leaves him speechless for a moment or two. Sam doesn't talk all that much about Riley and what he's just given to Steve -- what Sam claims Steve's given to _him --_ is a gift he'll treasure forever.

"Maria's really lucky," Steve murmurs. "Really lucky."

Taking his hand back, Sam holds it up in an exaggerated shrug. "Eh. Course she is. I'm a catch."

"Yeah," Steve agrees. "That you are."

Sam grins. "You know, how would you feel about playin' hooky today? Call outta work?"

"Why, Mr. Wilson," Steve chuckles. "I do believe you are a bad influence." 

Steve does call out of work and spends the whole day with Sam. By the time he gets home, Steve feels as though a huge weight has been lifted from his chest. He's said the words, out loud, to someone else. Bucky's coming over on Sunday with his friends and they're going to spend the evening together. And no matter what happens, Steve has a lot of people in his corner. A lot of really great people in his corner and his best friend is going to get married and there are good times still to be had.

***

The knock on the door has a shimmering thrill traveling down Steve’s spine. His reflection is smiling so brightly back at him that it takes a few seconds for Steve to get it in check. They’re here. He’s very aware that this will be the first time Bucky’s coming over since they ended the business side of their relationship. That awareness floats steadily across his bones as wobbly legs take him through the living room. 

In the back of his mind there’re ugly thoughts that try to overcrowd the excitement that’s there already. These rooms hold very specific memories for them. Memories that they still haven’t fully faced and are now teetering on facing them head on. But Steve makes a valiant effort to shove them aside. Things have been going well -- friendly smiles and easy laughs, happy chats and random late night texts -- and he’s not going to let a few uncertainties stand in their way now. 

Steve sucks in a deep, encouraging breath, and opens the door to let his guests in. 

Only instead of finding guests, there’s only one person standing there. Bucky’s on his phone, a disgruntled look on his face -- from what Steve can catch from the quick glimpse he gets of it before Bucky turns around -- and it sounds like he’s arguing. 

“But you said it was only gonna take you…” He trails off to listen to whoever he’s on the phone with is saying. “ _Clint_!” Clint then. “You guys said you’d finish and then _be_ _here_.”

Bucky sighs at whatever Clint’s response is and then huffs. He grumbles a few more things before giving up on arguing and ending the call. His head drops forward before he gradually glances over his shoulder. 

“Everything…” Steve already knows the answer to this, “okay?”

Before responding, Bucky twists his lips and turns around so that they’re facing one another. His mouth opens, but he ends up just chewing on the inside of his cheek and shaking his head. 

“What happened?” Steve asks. 

“Um…” Bucky glances at the phone in his hand. Looks at it as though he accuses it of being at fault for whatever’s happened. “Nat and Clint, uh, they got tickets to the ballet. Last minute. Um.” He sighs. “Nat’s been trying to get tickets for, like, ever. So… they’re not coming.”

Several emotions collide inside of Steve. The thought of spending time with Bucky -- and _only_ Bucky -- tonight fills his belly with excited butterflies, their wings almost tickling a smile out of him. Those earlier worries poke their ugly heads in there as well. Very effectively reminding him of what this will mean. That this will be the first time he and Bucky have ever spent any intimate time together alone since everything changed. The look on Bucky’s face, however -- that despondent expression as he struggles to keep eyes on Steve -- runs ice through his veins. Freezes those tickling butterfly wings. 

“So, then--”

“Sorry,” Bucky interrupts. “I, uh, I can just take off.” He gestures over his shoulder with his thumb. “S’no… no biggie.”

“Oh.” Steve’s stomach folds. Bucky doesn’t want to stay then. “If that’s… what you wanna do.”

Bucky stands there for a moment before nodding -- mostly to himself -- and stuffing his phone back into his pocket. He pats at them like maybe he’s looking for something.

“Yeah. I mean. Yeah.” He starts backing down the hall. “I’ll just go.”

Steve’s voice seems to have disappeared. It’s just not working, and he’s watching Bucky as he leaves. Just watching Bucky back away instead of saying something -- _anything_ \-- to ask him to stay. A crestfallen look passes over Bucky’s face before he folds his lips in and turns around. Maybe he doesn’t want to actually leave. Maybe he’s just… waiting for something. A reason to stay. 

“Wait…” Steve manages to get his voice working just before Bucky reaches the end of the hall. “Bucky.” He gets it out just loud enough that Bucky stops without turning around. “You don’t… you don’t _have_ to go, you know. You can stay. If you want. We can… watch a movie. Order pizza or something.”

For a moment, Steve thinks that Bucky might just continue leaving without even saying a word. He just stands there with his back to Steve. Stays very still. All Steve can see is the very slight rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes. Until he takes in a deep breath and peers over his shoulder. There’s a smirk on his face -- hinted with the same uncertainty Steve feels in his stomach -- and he shrugs. 

“So, you’ll only cook for me when you’re payin’?”

Steve snorts through a shaky laugh. That little joke, however, breaks some of the ice. It’s so obvious that he can practically hear it cracking as the evening begins to lose some of that sudden tension. 

“No, jerk,” Steve says. “We can… oh!” He doesn’t mean to get ahead of himself, but the excitement of a potential idea has him lighting up again. “I was gonna try to make this Italian sausage and tortellini thing tomorrow, but I have all the stuff already. Everything’s inside. We can…” And here come those damn nerves again, skittering along his bones and making him fumble over a few words. “We, uh, maybe, we could… try it together?”

Eyes on his shoes, Bucky scratches the back of his head before peering back up at Steve through his eyelashes. He still hasn’t taken a step forward, but he hasn’t made any other attempt to leave. A shy smile touches his lips. 

“You… want me to cook with you?”

“If you…” No. No, Steve doesn’t want to dance around this. He wants Bucky to stay and he wants Bucky to cook with him and he wants Bucky to come in for dinner. “Yes. Yes, I do. I’d love it if you’d stay and have dinner with me.”

That smile on Bucky’s face folds in -- Bucky not letting it get any larger than it already is. His mouth starts to open the way it does before he makes some smart ass remark, but it closes before he says anything. Bucky looks at Steve for a moment before he runs his tongue across the inside of his mouth and shrugs. 

“I can’t cook for shit, y’know,” he says. “I’ve burned water before.”

Steve chuckles. “I’m sure we can find something for you to do that won’t cause a disaster.”

Bucky answers that with another shrug, almost pulling off that air of nonchalance he used to be so good at, and comes back towards Steve’s place.

“You’ve been warned, grandpa,” he says as brushes by Steve and strolls through the door. “If I burn your kitchen down it’s totally your fault.”

Scoffing, Steve goes back inside behind him and closes the door. “I guess I’ll take my chances.”

When he turns back around, Bucky is fiddling with the zipper of the hoodie he's wearing. Shoes still on, he's just standing stiffly by the end of the couch. He hasn't made himself comfortable like Steve's grown used to. And this time there's no payment to be collected to get the ball rolling. 

"Do you wanna leave that on?" Steve asks. "Or you want me to take it?"

Bucky looks up like he's not sure what Steve's talking about. He glances back down at himself and chuckles before unzipping the sweatshirt and handing it off to Steve. Steve takes it, intending to just hang it up like he used to do with Bucky's jacket every week, and needs to stop when he gets a good look at him. There's nothing extraordinary about him. Just Bucky. Standing in Steve's living room wearing a nice, fitted shirt. V-neck so his chest is showing a bit. White, too, which means in the right light Steve'll be able to see through it a little. Black, skinny jeans. Not the tightest Steve's seen him in, but they hug around his legs comfortably and snugly and leave the back of Steve's mouth dry. 

This is nothing Steve hasn't seen before. Bucky is beautiful. Bucky’s _always_ been beautiful. It’s just… he’s _here_. Again. Back at Steve’s place after so long and his home welcomes him back as though not a day has gone by. As though Bucky always has a place here, no matter how much time passes. 

"What?"

Steve looks up. "Huh?"

"You're starin' at me." Bucky cracks a smile. "Yeah, I know. It's cause I'm sexy as hell, right?" 

Though he's definitely not wrong, Steve scoffs and finally turns to hang the hoodie up. His hand lingers over the hook for a moment -- his heart thumping against his chest -- as his fingers brush along the plastic bag. Still hanging there since the morning Steve brought it home. He looks at it. It stares back at him, the items inside longing to be reunited with his guest. Bucky's hoodie now hangs next to the bag with the clothes and hat that he returned to Steve. Past and present right next to one another. The future still remains cloudy and uncertain on the empty hook to the right of them all. 

“Alright, kid,” Steve says as he turns back around. “Let’s put you to work in my kitchen.” He points over Bucky’s shoulder. “It’s that way.”

Bucky snorts and twirls around, almost colliding with the couch as he does. He mutters a few swears in two different languages before scooting around it and telling Steve to shut up through a chuckle as they make their way to the kitchen. 

Once Steve pulls up the recipe on his tablet and gets out most of the ingredients they’ll need, he asks Bucky to get him the skillet from the cabinets under the sink. Bucky nods, goes over there, and stares at Steve’s pots and pans for a second -- eyebrows stitched and lips twisted -- before pulling one out.

“This one?”

Steve chuckles. “No, that’s a saute pan. I need the skillet. The one with slanted sides.”

Blinking twice, Bucky shakes his head and puts the saute pan back to pull the right one out. He holds it up and when Steve nods, Bucky chuckles. 

“I thought this was a frying pan.”

Steve takes it from him and smiles. 

“Same thing.”

He hops up on the counter next to the stove as Steve pours a bit of oil into the pan.

“Ya hadda make it difficult, didn’t ya, grandpa?” He folds his arms and sulks. Playful. With ease and comfort just like he used to.“Couldn't've just _said_ the frying pan?”

The ground up sausage is starting to crackle and pop as it slowly cooks in the heated up oil. Sounds like it’s laughing along with Steve. He stirs the meat a bit before glancing at Bucky with a smirk.

“Nope.” He laughs harder when Bucky glowers at him. “Hey, come on. Today you learned the difference between a frying pan and a saute pan. You should thank me.”

“For _what_?” Bucky exclaims, eyebrows shooting up. “You didn’t do anything!”

“Sure I did.” Steve gives his cheek a pinch. “You love to learn and I taught you something. I gave you the gift of knowledge.” Bucky rolls his eyes with a little huff. “And _now_ , I’m gonna give you something else.” He shoves a block of mozzarella cheese and a cheese grater into Bucky’s hands. Bucky makes a face at them. “Get started.”

“Aw man,” he huffs as he slides off the counter and goes to sit at the table. “I _hate_ grating cheese.”

Bucky continues to grumble to himself, even when Steve hands him a bowl for the cheese to go in. He _does_ , however, stare at everything he’s brought to the table with him like it’s their fault this needs to be done before peering up at Steve and giving him this adorable pout. Eyes big and wide, lip pushed out, charm turned all the way up in an attempt to get something he wants from Steve. The sort of thing he hasn’t done in months. 

“Isn’t there _anything_ else that I could do?”

The tone he uses -- so soft and sweet -- melts Steve’s heart. A smile touches his lips. He’s missed that look. Missed Bucky being comfortable enough to give it to him. Even if he _is_ trying to get out of his share of the work here. 

“Not yet,” Steve replies. Smirk playing on his mouth when Bucky scowls. “And if you make _me_ do it, _you_ don’t get any.”

Leaning his head back, Bucky gives Steve an irritated groan and then snatches up the cheese from off the table. Tears the wrapper open and sighs. 

“Fine,” he mutters. “I’ll grate the stinkin’ cheese.”

Steve snickers, “You’re such a brat,” and goes back to cooking the sausage. 

Behind him is a soft chuckle and then there’re just the sounds of simmering meat and the wooden spoon scraping across the bottom of the pot and the occasional tapping of the grater against the bowl. It’s a peaceful sort of silence. No need to fill the stretch between words with forced or meaningless chitchat. 

Until Bucky says, softly, “You like it when I’m a brat.”

A shiver runs up Steve’s spine. Bucky’s voice is full of caution now. Thick layers of doubt that shroud the confidence that used to shine through -- even if that confidence had holes poked through it. As if he’s not fully sure whether or not he should be saying this, and has opened himself up to a world of vulnerability in doing so.

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs just as quietly. Looks over his shoulder to see Bucky watching him carefully. “I do.” Bucky’s eyes shimmer. “And _you_ like it when I _call_ you a brat. So I guess we’re good?”

Biting down on that smile of his, Bucky blushes and goes back to grating the cheese. Still tugging back on his smile, he nods.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “We’re good.”

Steve turns back to the stove and lets out a happy sigh. A warm breath of contentment that fills the air around him. This is… this is good. This is nice, and in just a few minutes, the sausage is done cooking and Bucky is bringing the bowl full of grated cheese over to him. 

“This good?” he asks. Grabs a pinch of cheese shreds between his fingers and tosses them into his mouth. “Enough?”

“Yup. Good job. See?” Steve pats his head. “I knew we’d find some use for you.”

“Ha, ha,” Bucky deadpans. “You’re funny.”

Chuckling, Steve asks Bucky to grab the shredded parmesan cheese from the fridge while he pours the sauce and tortellini in with the cooked sausage. When Bucky comes back with it, he puts it on the counter and takes another sample of the cheese he grated. Then another before he even swallows that first mouthful. 

“Stop eating the cheese,” Steve says and hands him a jar of Italian seasoning. “Here. A teaspoon of this.”

Still chewing, Bucky first gives him a cheeky grin and sneaks one more piece of cheese before taking the jar. He stands there for a second before bunching his lips up and opening Steve’s utensil draw.

“Teaspoon is the small one?”

“Yeah,” Steve chuckles. Reaches across Bucky and closes the drawer. “But you can use this,” he tells him as he opens the drawer beneath that one and pulls out measuring spoons. Silver. They have hearts in the scoops and little cheerful messages on the handles. “Better accuracy.”

Pink touches Bucky’s cheeks. “Oh.” He gets a good look at them and laughs. “These all have hearts on them.”

“I know,” Steve agrees. “They were my mom’s.”

Bucky abruptly stops laughing and absently changes his grip on the spoons. Tender and affectionate. A soft, gentle hold on them as if being allowed to use these means the world to him. He glances up at Steve, knows that this _does_ mean something much more than just using measuring spoons, and smiles. Steve smiles back and nods for him to continue. 

“Um. This one?” He holds the teaspoon out. “Right?”

“You got it. Wait.” He stops Bucky from pouring the seasoning out into the spoon while holding it over the floor and instead moves him over the pan. “Do it here. If some spills, it just goes into the food.”

He’s behind Bucky now, arms around him as he guides his hands to carefully measure out the right amount of seasoning and pour it into their dinner. Once that’s done, Steve remains where he is and places the wooden spoon in Bucky’s hand. He scoots over now, moving a bit to the side while Bucky stirs and reaches in front of him so he can turn the flame up a bit more. At the same time, Bucky once again reaches for another handful of cheese. 

And Steve slaps his hand. 

Things have felt so normal, so right and natural, that Steve just reacts. He just does it. Just slaps Bucky’s knuckles to keep him from taking the cheese he was already told not to take. 

“I said stop eating the cheese!” he playfully scolds. And then realizes, with a hard lump in his stomach, what he’s done. 

He has no idea if it’s okay goof around like that again. If it’ll ever be okay to play with Bucky like that again. Calling him a brat is one thing. This is another. 

But Bucky yanks his hand back with a laugh and shakes it out. He peers up at Steve with that adorable pout and rubs at his knuckles. 

“Ow,” he whines. 

“S-Sorry…” Steve says. “I… I didn’t…” He’s not sure what to say. “...hurt you, did I?”

While he’s quite sure that’s not the case -- their games have seen Steve striking him much harder than that before -- it’s just the first thing that comes to mind. Bucky’s face confirms it even more. His eyebrows pull in, confusion lining the corners of his mouth. That confusion clears, however, as he catches up with Steve’s concerns. Seems he, like Steve, has forgotten where they are. Or when they are. Or something like that. 

Bucky gets as far as opening his mouth. Snaps it closed again. They stand there, looking at each other as their food cooks to a boil. Steve needs to turn the heat down, but he can’t seem to do anything other than stare at Bucky as they try to maneuver their way around this potential blunder. 

“ _Y’know_ ,” Bucky says after just a few more seconds. Struggles for just a heartbeat and then continues. “Yeah. You _did_. Punk. I should call my lawyer.” He clicks his tongue and shakes his head and lets the smartass remark keep on rolling out of his mouth. “This is what I get? After working so hard for you? Can’t even _enjoy_ the fruit of my labor?”

He’s reaching for the cheese again. Eyes on Steve. Testing, Steve’s sure. Playing, he hopes. Letting him know it’s okay. They’re okay. This is okay. It’s okay for Steve reach out and take hold of his wrist to stop him again.

“I _said_ ,” Steve scolds, “stop eating the cheese, brat.”

Face filling with another blush, Bucky needs just a moment to rein in a smile. Steve, on the other hand, doesn’t bother hiding his. In fact, he wants Bucky to see it. Hopes it makes him happy, knowing that he’s put it there. 

“ _Fine,_ ” Bucky teases back. “Then what’re we doing with it?”

Smiling, Steve lets go of Bucky’s wrist and turns down the flame on the stove just as it comes to a boil. He takes in a deep, reassuring breath. 

“We let that simmer for about ten minutes,” he explains. “And then we put the cheese on top of it, let it melt, and then we eat it. In the meantime…” Steve pulls out dishes from the cabinets and hands them to Bucky. “Start setting the table.”

Bucky scoffs. “Yes, _sir_.”

Bucky freezes. Steve freezes. The air freezes. 

“So.” No. Steve’s not going to let anything get in their way. He’s not. “You had a good time Thursday?” he asks. Pushes the words out past the hard lump in his throat. It’s okay. They can get around this, too. They can. “You said?”

“Yeah. Um. Yeah.” Bucky nods. Moves for the table. Stops. And then makes it there where he starts putting the plates down. “Uh. We. Um. We went to, like, every bar.” He chuckles awkwardly. “You know what my ridiculous friends did?”

“No, what?” Steve asks as he hands Bucky two glasses. 

Their fingers brush together when Bucky takes them. There’s warmth between them. A charge of electricity. Steve grins. So does Bucky. Still okay. 

“They entered me in a damn beer pong competition.”

Steve laughs. “Oh yeah? How’d you do?”

“Oh awesome.” Bucky shrugs. “I’m me! Of _course_ I did.”

“You know,” Steve says. “I think I can _see_ your head getting bigger.”

Bucky laughs as he helps Steve put silverware down on the table. It occurs to Steve then, that he hasn’t said a word about that _other_ little thing that happened that night. Maybe now would be a good time to just mention it. Even just to get a feel for how Bucky’s doing with it. 

“And, uh…” He clears his throat. “That other thing?” Bucky quickly looks up at him. “Did you wanna… talk about it?”

There’s a little furrow between his eyes. Bucky shakes his head. 

“No.”

“Okay. That’s okay.” Steve goes back over to the stove to check on the food. Stirs it a bit. “We can,” he assures him. “If you want. Whenever. If ever. Just so you know.”

Bucky doesn’t respond to that, so Steve just goes on stirring their meal. It’s nearly done. Maybe another minute, if that, and the cheese can be added. 

“Steve?”

“Yeah?” He’s still paying attention to the food. 

“Do you…” Bucky’s voice dropping makes Steve turn back around. “Do you think I did the right thing?”

“It… it doesn’t matter what _I_ think, Buck,” he tells him. “You--”

“Yes, it does,” Bucky interrupts. He’s very quiet right now. “It does matter what you think, Steve. To me anyway.”

For just a moment, Steve could swear his heart stops. Tears touch his eyes. He’s not completely oblivious to everything. He knows he means _something_ to Bucky. Maybe something important. But this… _that_ … that’s a place in Bucky’s heart he wasn’t sure he’d ever breech. A place Steve was sure was only reserved for Natasha and Clint. As far as Steve knows, there isn’t another soul in the world who knows anything about the situation. For Bucky to care about Steve’s opinion on this means so much to him, it feels as though he’s landed among the stars. 

Steve takes in a deep breath. “Then… yes. Yes, Bucky. I think you did the right thing. I’m very proud of you.” The second Steve says that, Bucky glances down at his feet. “Is that… okay to say?”

Eyes still on his toes, Bucky nods his head. When he looks back up, he’s glowing a little. They share a smile before Steve turns back to the food so he can add the cheese.

“So,” he says while he does that. “What’d you do the rest of the weekend?”

Bucky tells him about the club, Shield, that Clint apparently works for doing promos and such so he got them all in for free on Friday night. Which meant Bucky got to spend the whole night dancing with his friends. Although a loud, packed club isn’t really Steve’s idea of fun, he can’t help but feel a little jealous of anyone who got to see Bucky there that night. He can still remember, with vivid clarity, the first time he laid eyes on the kid. Dancing at the bar. His body moving perfectly in sync with the music. A heart stopping to and fro of sensual temptation amid sweat-soaked bodies and flashing lights. Steve’s lightheaded just thinking about it. 

Last night, Bucky went home to his mom’s for dinner and cake. Natasha and Clint, he says, joined them. Tradition, it would seem. He tells Steve that every year his sister makes him wear a paper birthday hat, swipe his _left_ pinky finger through his name on the cake -- _backwards_ , it _has_ to be backwards -- and then smear it on his nose. And then he has to keep the frosting on his nose while he eats his piece of cake. Every year apparently, without fail, Bucky’s made to do this and he does it without complaint and he laughs the entire time he tells Steve the story. Course, nowadays, thanks to Bucky’s best friends, this comes with pictures of this up on the internet -- and after some gentle persuasion, Steve gets to see -- but Bucky doesn’t really seem to mind. Not that he should. Bucky looks absolutely adorable anyway with a silly hat on his head and pink frosting smeared all over his nose a big, dopey grin plastered on his face. He’s even giving two thumbs up in the picture Steve sees. 

The two of them talk straight through dinner without any awkward pauses or interruptions. They just go on talking and talking. About the weekend. About classes. About trips to the dentist and art exhibits and books they’ve read, and the next thing Steve knows, he’s washing the dishes and Bucky’s sitting on the counter again drying for him while he shares another story from his past. 

“So then,” Bucky is in the middle of saying. “Security is all ‘Put your hands up!’ And Clint does…”

“Uh oh,” Steve chuckles. Sees where this story is going.

“Yup. Pants fall _right_ down.” Bucky’s laughing so hard his cheeks are red. “Bare ass showin’ to the _whole_ world, I shit you not. Classic Barton. I swear, he is the _biggest_ fuck up I know and yet he’s the world’s most _reliable_ guy. I dunno how he does it.” 

Bucky hands over the last dish to Steve and once it’s put away they both glance around the kitchen. Must realize the same thing. There’s nothing left to do in here. The whole time he’s been on the counter, Bucky’s legs have been happily swaying back and forth. They’ve stopped now. 

“So,” Steve says, and is about to ask Bucky if he wants to watch a movie when Bucky interrupts. 

“Can I stay?” Bucky snaps his mouth shut. His eyes bug out and he stares at Steve like he can’t believe those words just came out of him. “I… I mean…” He sighs and looks down. “I was just having a good time. Sorry. I’ll… I can just go.”

He’s about to slip off the counter again when Steve stops him. Puts his hands gently at his hips and keeps him from going anywhere. 

“Hey,” Steve murmurs gently. “Why’re you apologizing, Bucky?” He coaxes his chin back up. Leaves his other hand on Bucky’s hip. “And I don’t want you to go. I was gonna ask if you wanted to watch a movie. I’m having a good time, too, Buck.”

Their knees are touching. On the counter, Bucky’s the exact same height as Steve so their brows are very close to each other. Steve’s eyes drop to Bucky’s lips. He doesn’t mean to gaze there, but he does. Bucky folds them in and then licks them once. 

“You want me to stay?” Bucky asks. “I can?”

“Yes,” Steve answers. “And yes.” His hands are still on Bucky and Bucky has done nothing to change that. Steve’s palms are buzzing with the touch. It’s intoxicating. “You wanna watch a movie with me? Your choice. For your birthday.”

“Okay,” Bucky whispers. “Yeah.”

Neither of them move. Steve forgets how to breathe, even if his lungs are still filling with air. The air around them buzzes with life. Charged. Electric. He trembles with its onslaught. Bucky’s lip quivers.

“I can…” Bucky swallows. “I’ll go pick one out.”

He moves then. It’s slight. Just a shift of his weight, but it’s enough for Steve move away completely. To always give that to Bucky even at just the slightest hint of discomfort or uncertainty. The room breathes again. Deep, heavy gulps of air that saturate the room with the sudden release of the tension filling it. 

“Okay,” Steve says. He clears his throat. Hopes his skin might do him the favor of loosening up a bit. “Okay. Um. I have snacks.”

Bucky looks at him for a second like he’s just waking up. He blinks. Then smiles softly.

“Chocolate?”

Steve grins. “Maybe. You go put a movie on. I’ll surprise you.”

He does, in fact, have chocolate, and as Bucky goes back into the living room to pick out a movie, Steve grabs the back of assorted candies from the pantry. Along with that, he gets a bag of popcorn and two bottles of water. Before going to join Bucky though, he stops at the sink and splashes cold water on his face. 

After drying off, he actually goes to the hall closet first to get a blanket. Just in case. When he gets to the living room, he finds Bucky on the couch. Shoes off now. Legs curled under him. He grins at the bag of candy in Steve’s hand. 

“What’d you pick?” Steve asks as he sits. Puts all the snacks on the coffee table and the blanket on the back of the couch. 

There’s only a few inches of space between him and Bucky. Bucky shifts towards him. Closes a bit of that space as he reaches for candy already. 

“You’ll see,” he says. Pops a piece of chocolate into his mouth and reaches for the remote to press play. And doesn’t move away again.

Turns out, Bucky’s selected the movie _Warm Bodies_ because he has a huge crush on Nicholas Hoult and _it’s Romeo and Juliet with_ zombies _, dude!_ Not that Steve would have any objections anyway. He owns the movie for a reason. Thing is, Bucky’s clearly seen this movie hundreds of times. Or at least enough times to recite his favorite parts since every few minutes he does just that. 

“Shut up,” Bucky giggles when Steve teases him about it. “I love this movie.”

“I see that,” Steve chuckles. “I should just put it on mute.”

“No, no!” he whines and wrestles the remote from Steve’s hands. Ends up hiding it behind him. “Then I can’t hear Nick’s sexy voice.”

“Nick’s, huh?” Steve jokes. “You sure are getting personal with him, aren’t you?”

“Now don’t be jealous, Stevie.” Bucky pinches Steve’s cheek. “You know you’re my favorite.”

Within an hour, more than half the bag of chocolate is gone, there’s popcorn scattered across the floor since the two of them decided to try to toss kernels into each other’s mouths and weren’t very successful at it -- resulting in messy laughter and endless mocking -- and Bucky decided he did want that blanket. Only instead of just wrapping himself in it, he ends up draping it over both him _and_ Steve, moving that much closer to Steve to do so. 

They’re cozy together under the blanket. Sitting side by side, their arms brushing. Almost leaning into each other. Almost, but not quite. They’ve laughed at the same parts and paused the movie to analyze scenes and even argued over who the more attractive star of the movie is. But there’s something keeping them from slipping into that cool ease and comfort that they used to find with each other. A wall. A barrier. Maybe even several of them. 

Every now and then, Steve’s noticed Bucky watching him. Carefully. Almost as if he expects him to do something. Like he’s waiting for Steve to pull the rug out from under him. Or even like he might want to ask Steve something. As if there’s something weighing heavy on his mind no matter how hard he tries to ignore it. Anytime Steve looks back at him, Bucky just smiles and turns his attention back to the movie. 

The movie’s almost over when it happens again. Bucky’s staring at him with this complicated, impossible to read expression on his face. Walls up, guarded, but still cozy under a blanket and chocolate filled and almost-but-not-quite snuggled up with Steve on Steve’s couch. This time, however, when they catch eyes, Bucky doesn’t look away.

“You wanna watch another one?” Steve asks. He doesn’t want him to leave. Whatever this is, he doesn’t want it to end. Not yet. He’s not ready for that. “When this is over?”

Bucky’s eyes close. There’s a pull on his lips. They curve up into a brief and tiny smile. He nods. Maybe he doesn’t want this to end either. 

“Yeah,” he whispers. 

“Okay,” Steve answers. Turns back to the television. Bucky’s still facing him. He looks back at Bucky, almost too afraid to ask. “What’s wrong, Bucky? Please, tell me.”

A sad, almost tired smile touches Bucky’s mouth. He looks at Steve with a pair of careworn eyes and sighs. 

“Just…” His voice cracks. “Say it, Steve.” He sounds so tired. Just ready to give up some inner battle he’s been fighting. “Just tell me.”

Steve’s heart thuds against his ribs, his next breath colliding with his last. “Tell you what, Bucky?”

“That it wouldn’t’ve worked.” 

Shoulders falling, Steve’s heart now crumbles in ways he’s never felt before. Pieces that shrivel like the last leaves of fall unable to cling onto their tree any longer. 

“Bucky…”

Bucky suddenly sits up, pulling the blanket with him, and smothers his face with his hands. He sighs again and shakes his head. 

“I know… I know it wouldn’t,” he mumbles. “I know it wouldn't've worked between us. I _know_ that. I’m no good for you. But maybe…” Bucky squeezes his eyes closed. “Maybe if I heard _you_ say it, I could stop thinking… it might have.”

“Might have?” Steve’s breath catches. He’s so unprepared for this it’s almost as though Bucky’s slapped him. “Bucky, did you… or… do you… _want_ that? With me?”

“No. No. I mean. No.” He huffs and sighs. “I dunno. It… but it doesn’t _matter_!” Bucky exclaims. “I _know_ it wouldn’t’ve worked--”

“Bucky--”

“--I’m nothin’ and you’re… _you_ and I ain’t _good_ enough for you and you’re _gonna_ see that eventually, Steve, I _know_ you are. So just _say_ it.”

“But, Bucky--”

“Steve!” Bucky interrupts again. He turns to face him again like he’s trying to convey something very, _very_ serious. “I have _sex_ for money! I’m _always_ sleepin’ with someone! Sometimes more than one person a _day_! I gotta go to the clinic once a month for check ups!” He trembles a little and shakes his head. “I’m not ashamed of what I do. I’m _not_. But I know how the world works. Do you _really_ think _you’re_ gonna be okay with that? You want _that_ as your boyfriend?” He switches his tone of voice. Becomes tauntingly sensual. “Me comin’ over and you knowin’ that I was just _fucked_ by someone else? Knowin’ that I had someone _else’s_ dick in my mouth? You seeing their marks on me? I already _know_ you don’t like that, Steve. You think you’re just all of a sudden gonna be cool with it? You think--”

“Stop,” Steve whispers. “Please, stop.” 

The way Bucky says that, the images he’s putting in Steve’s head, it makes Steve’s stomach hurt. He has so little faith in the world and why wouldn’t he? The world has told him over and over that’s he’s not good enough. That he’s not worth the companionship and love he craves. So how could Bucky, even with Steve doing all he can to be his friend, ever really place his faith in him? 

“See?” Bucky says. Almost triumphantly. Cynically so. “So just say it. Say it wouldn’t’ve worked.”

“I… Bucky, I can’t…”

“Just _say it_ , Steve,” Bucky insists. Angry now. Maybe even a little desperate to just hear it come from Steve. “ _Just say it_.” 

Steve can’t think. His head is spinning too fast to process anything properly. 

“Bucky…” he tries again.

“Just say it!” The words burst from him this time. “ _Please_! Just say it, Steve! Just say it! Just say--”

“I don’t know!” Steve exclaims. “I don’t _know_ if it would’ve worked between us, Bucky, okay? I don’t.” 

A horrible look crosses Bucky’s face then. As though Steve saying something even _close_ to what Bucky wanted him to say just about breaks his heart. 

“Okay.” His voice splinters. Jagged pieces flaking away as tears fill his eyes. “Okay.”

“No, Bucky…” Steve gathers Bucky’s hands in his own. Bucky doesn’t resist. He just let's Steve scoop up his hands and hold them close. “It’s not… it’s _not_ for the reasons you think.”

“What… what… do you…” He can’t seem to talk. He’s thick with tears and emotion and shivers as he tries to contain it all. “What...”

“I don’t care about the sex, Bucky,” Steve says. He shakes his head. “No. No that’s not true. I do care about the sex.” Bucky looks down. “But I don’t care enough not to _be_ with you if you’re willing to be with _me_. I _want_ to be with you, Bucky.” The hands in Steve’s clench around his. Like Bucky’s suddenly terrified that Steve is going to let go. “Those other… your customers are just… _sex_. If we were together… then you’d… _want_ to have sex with me… right? You’d be with me, spend time with me, because you _want_ to. _Not_ because I’m paying you. And that’s… different.”

“Yeah,” Bucky whispers. Eyes wide as he stares at Steve. “Then… what…”

“I already lost the most important person to me once,” Steve murmurs. Tears fill his eyes. Trail along lashes and spill over one by one. The thought of someone hurting Bucky stabs Steve right in the stomach, blade pushing in and twisting painfully. “I don’t know if I could handle that again. Not if it was you. Not if someone took you away from me, Buck.” 

Bucky reaches up to Steve’s face and gently wipes some of those traitorous tears away. He looks at his fingertips, moisture still there until he rubs his thumb over them, as though he can hardly believe Steve is crying for him. 

“Steve,” he breathes. “I… I know you have… a, like, a crush on me… but you can’t really compare me to your…”

“A crush?” Steve repeats the word as though it’s shocked him. “You think I have a _crush_ on you, Bucky?”

“I…” Bucky looks confused now. As though maybe he’s completely misjudged this. “I thought…” His eyebrows pull in. “No?”

“No, Bucky.” Steve gently fixes his hand to the side of Bucky’s face. “My sweet boy…” As if everything suddenly falls into place for Bucky -- what he didn’t understand, Steve’s feelings, what he’s about to be told -- he gasps. Eyes wide, he shakes his head like he already doesn’t believe it. “I don’t have a _crush_ on you. I’m in _love_ with you.” 

“S-Steve…”

“I _love_ you, Bucky.”

Bucky abruptly turns away, leaving Steve’s hand grasping at nothing but the air. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move after that. It doesn’t even look like he’s breathing. He’s turned enough that Steve can barely see his face at all. All he can see are the heavy tears that drip off of Bucky’s jaw.

Steve’s love hangs awkwardly in the air between them. A risky and dangerous confession that can easily blow up in his face and leave two broken hearts in the aftermath. When Bucky goes on not doing or saying anything, and the tension gets thicker and thicker, the shadows in the room seem to gobble up Steve’s words in an attempt to distort and warp them into something twisted and wrong. 

Steve pleads, helplessly, “Say something,” even with his pulse fluttering through him like the wings of a hummingbird, “please.”

Lip quivering, Bucky swallows whatever has lodged in his throat and he sucks in a rough breath. 

“I’m… I…” His voice trembles and the next sound that comes out is a pained whimper. Bucky’s chin lower. He sniffles and struggles not to gasp as he breathes. “I’m… really scared, Steve.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “Me too. But, maybe,” he fits his hand under Bucky’s chin to coax his gaze back to him, “we can be scared… together?”

Eyes falling closed, Bucky’s lips lightly brush the tip of Steve’s thumb. “I can’t… I can’t _think_ around you.” His breathing is rough and shallow. “Don’t… don’t say things you don’t…”

“I mean it, Bucky. That I love you. That I care more about losing you than you having sex. All of it.” Steve sees the flicker of change, his promise provoking a clash between Bucky’s fears and desires. “Tell me what you want.”

“I--”

“Please, tell me, Bucky. What do you want?”

“You,” he says. And then flushes. Hard. A deep crimson color that reaches the tips of his ears. Bucky opens his eyes. “Kiss me. Please, Steve.”

Instead of leaning in, Steve takes Bucky’s hand and, giving Bucky plenty of opportunity to make him stop, brings his knuckles up to his mouth to press a soft kiss there. Body singing with tension, Bucky just waits as the moment stretches between them. Steve moves his lips up to Bucky’s wrist. Whispers a kiss along the skin there next. 

Steve continues kissing up Bucky’s arm, slowly making his way across his shoulder and then, sweetly, tenderly, up the soft skin of his neck. Each touch of his lips sees Bucky both tensing and relaxing, and the closer to his mouth Steve gets, the more unguarded he becomes. 

They had kissed once before since Steve’s been his customer. A rushed, fevered kiss the night of Steve’s exhibit. Waiting for this one is nothing like that. Steve can feel the difference. He’s sure Bucky can as well. The anticipation so real it burns between them.

The inch between them is nothing and everything all at once. Just a breath of space and a vast ocean separating them. _Kiss me_ , Bucky had said. A simple need in a moment of complex and tangled up emotions. Steve runs his fingers through the soft hair on the back of Bucky’s neck, cupping his head. 

Steve tilts his head, inviting. His fingers curl in Bucky’s soft hair, and Steve leans in to close that slight gap between them. The tension in Bucky suddenly peaks, and just before Steve would press their lips together, Bucky’s crossing that last bit of distance and kissing him first. 

He shudders against Steve as they kiss. A surrender, maybe -- an exchange of deep-seated fear for inner desires. Mouths never parting, Steve lowers Bucky against to the couch, his body welcoming Steve’s weight atop it. Still fully clothed, they do nothing but kiss with their limbs tangled together. Beneath him, Bucky’s kisses are open-mouthed and full, pulling Steve in for more and never receiving enough. Flames sparking and igniting, bright and painful. 

Steve’s hands slide under Bucky’s shirt, fingertips pressing firmly into the soft skin beneath them. Bucky has his hands planted at Steve’s hips. Biting down and curling into the fabric of his pants as though he means to keep him there forever. He keeps trembling. Over and over -- each tremor like another wall crumbling down as his kisses becomes firmer, deeper, and then one push against Steve’s chest has him upright again. Bucky sits in front of him. Eyes dark and heated. Breaths heavy. Chest rising and falling quick and hard. He gazes at Steve in a single moment of choice. Narrowed down to two things. Stay or go. 

For one second, seeing the tension in Bucky’s jaw and his pulse hammering in his throat, Steve thinks he might choose the latter. Instead, Bucky’s fingers reach under Steve’s shirt and pull it off. He tosses it somewhere to be found when the world spins again. Bucky takes a long look at Steve’s bare chest before grazing his hand over it, sending a white hot flame through Steve’s entire body. 

Steve’s head drops back when Bucky leans in to feather kisses between his nipples and he then finds himself to be the one on his back with Bucky hovered over him. He leans down to press his mouth gently over Steve’s throat. When Bucky’s lips graze over his collarbone, Steve releases the moan that’s been building since the moment in the kitchen. It springs from his lungs heavy and unrestrained, and when Bucky lifts away, he quickly start undoing the button of Steve’s jeans. 

Expert fingers have Steve’s pants open and off within seconds, and then Steve is completely naked while Bucky, leaning over him, remains fully clothed. Steve, stripped down and exposed to just a man who’s handed over his heart to shaky and scared hands, looks up at him and waits. 

Bucky gazes back and then, as if coming to one last and final wall, hesitates before slowly reaching behind himself and pulling off his shirt. It slips over his head easily, making his hair stick up everywhere until Bucky runs his fingers through it. Heat spills between them. A moment so thick and pure, building up over so much time the world seems to explode with it. 

As soon as Bucky’s skin is exposed, Steve’s hands ache to be all over it. Re-feeling the softness of it. Learning again. Every inch of it. Where his fingertips make Bucky sigh, shake, moan... Steve needs to know all of him.

He can’t though. Because the second Bucky lets his shirt fall to the floor, his arm slips across his belly. Covering. Hiding the marks that do their best to peek out behind his attempts to keep Steve from seeing. 

“No,” Steve murmurs gently. Pushes up on one arm. With his other hand, Steve tries to guide Bucky’s arm away only Bucky doesn’t let him. “It’s okay, Bucky. I love you. They don’t matter. I love _you_.” 

Bucky lifts his eyes again. There’s an odd shyness to them. A look Steve’s never seen. Not like this. Praises and compliments and affection, yes. But never sex. Never his body. Steve’s hand is still gently over his wrist, and Bucky gradually moves his arm away. Let’s Steve see the marks that are there. And love blossoms anew. 

The trust in one simple act of letting himself be seen wholly and fully has Steve floating among stardust and moonbeams, and he leans in again. Bucky lets him guide him back down again as Steve kisses over those marks. Kisses, and does nothing to change them. Loving Bucky for all that he is. 

Bucky’s hands roam through Steve’s hair. Tugging gently and running through and just feeling as though he can’t get enough. When Steve looks back at Bucky there’re tears slipping down his cheeks. 

“Bucky,” Steve whispers as Bucky hastily attempts to wipe the tears away. “We can--”

“No.” He slips his hands between them. Unbuttons his pants and pushes them down. Eyes on Steve the whole time. “Don’t stop. Please?”

Pressing a kiss to Bucky’s forehead, Steve nods. Goes to untangle himself from the mess of limbs they’ve become so he can get the items they need to continue when Bucky snatches his wrist to keep him from going anywhere. He throws him a frantic, horrified look. As though the thought of Steve leaving now is unbearable. 

“I’m just…” Steve cups his hand to Bucky’s cheek. “I’m just getting…”

Bucky shakes his head and reaches down for his pants. He easily pulls out a condom and packet of lube. Steve doesn’t question why he has them with him. Whether he was with a customer earlier or came here with them just in case or is just always prepared. It doesn’t matter. Steve tears open the packet and slicks up his fingers. 

The prep is hazy and foggy, their bodies beginning to operate on instinct. Steve runs his clean hand up Bucky’s thigh, making his legs part for him while his messy fingers push into Bucky’s body one at a time. Opening him up slowly. Making him pant. Sweat dotting his brow as he breathes out quiet little noises. Steve crooks his fingers once. Twice. And Bucky shudders and cries out his name beneath him. 

Unable to control himself any longer, full and desperate and needing to be inside of him, Steve moves his hand away. Bucky trembles, his hands sliding all over Steve’s sweaty body, and pulls him close again.

“Say it again, Steve,” he whispers as Steve guides himself into place with one hand. “I just--”

“I love you, Bucky,” Steve murmurs. “I love--”

Bucky arches his back. Doesn’t quite get Steve inside of him, but pushes against him enough that it cuts Steve’s declaration off with a moan. Steve pushes then. Drives home and suddenly runs out of air. Every inch forward feels more and more as he plunges deep into Bucky and the room fades away to nothing but sensation. 

Their bodies are already moving. Rocking back and forth as the air is saturated with beautiful, fractured prisms that come from somewhere deep within Steve’s heart. Steve’s head drops to rest over Bucky’s brow. They’re both panting -- Steve’s hands running through Bucky’s hair, Bucky’s arms coiling around Steve’s waist as he pulls him in closer, pulls him in deeper. 

They move in sync. Sweat-slicked and breathless. Eyes locked in this moment when everything else ceases to be and leaves just Steve and Bucky. Here. Together. 

“I love you,” Steve pants. “I’ve loved you for so long. I love you so much, Bucky.”

“Steve,” Bucky whimpers. Helpless and losing control. “Steve, I… Steve… Steve…”

Bucky tugs on the back of Steve’s neck. Pulls him in to meet his open mouth. He moans against him, and Steve’s body pulses, almost pushing him to climax. It won’t be long now. It can’t be. 

Underneath him, Bucky’s body suddenly tightens and tenses. He cries out Steve’s name. Holds onto him tight and secure and he’s scrambling to keep Steve’s lips against his as his orgasm hits. All at once everything is too much. Every sight, every sound, every touch. An overwhelming world of sensation as Steve melts further into Bucky. Impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins. 

Steve climaxes with him -- an immediate sundering between reality and the most wonderful fantasies of his mind. The world collapses around him in an explosion of decadent sensation. An infinite and expanding rapture that encompasses all that he is and all that he hopes to be, here, in oblivion. 

When he opens his eyes next, Steve’s not sure how much time has passed, but he finds himself in his bedroom. Somewhere in the vague and hazy memories of the aftermath he can remember carrying Bucky there and then falling with him into the bed. Bucky. Who’s so still and quiet Steve thinks he might be sleeping. Bucky. Who’s lying beneath almost all of his weight. Somehow, amid stars and moonbeams, Steve was aware enough to adjust so that he wouldn’t be crushing him, but this can’t be all that comfortable. Plus, there’s the small matter of the sticky mess between them. But when he tries to move away, Bucky tightens his grip and clings to him. Still awake then.

“No,” Bucky whispers. Sleep heavy and slightly panicked. “Don’t go. Please.”

“I…” Steve tries to even just shift to no avail. Bucky won’t let go. “I wasn’t. I just-- hey, baby, I was just gonna get you cleaned off.”

Face firmly hidden against Steve’s chest, Bucky shakes his head. He keeps that firm grip and refuses to let go.

“Please, don’t let go, Steve,” he whimpers. “I don’t want this to end.”

“Oh, Bucky,” Steve breathes. “It’s not--”

He doesn’t go on. Bucky’s trembling. Possibly holding his breath like he’s trying not to cry. Or maybe already crying and trying to get himself to stop without Steve knowing. Words can’t heal these wounds. Wounds freshly brought to the surface even in a moment of love and intimacy. Instead of using words, Steve blindly fishes around on the floor, finds a shirt which will easily suffice to quickly wipe them both down, and presses a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head before securing him in his embrace.

Steve is able to wiggle their weight around enough to get the blanket around them without letting Bucky go. Once they’re under it, Bucky curls into him even more, and Steve just holds onto him. These pained little noises keep getting caught in Bucky’s throat and anytime Steve moves even the slightest, he clasps onto him again. 

“Bucky.” Bucky tenses and clings tighter. He shakes his head. Makes that noise again. He’s still trembling. “Baby, I’m not gonna let go.” Steve cups the back of his neck and hugs him to his chest some more. “It’s okay. This isn’t going to end.”

It’s quiet for a long few moments until Bucky slowly moves his face away from Steve’s chest and looks up with small, timid eyes. They’re wet and a little swollen, but not overflowing. He sucks his lip under his teeth to stop it from quivering. 

“You…” He needs to clear his throat. His voice still has very little strength to it when he goes on. “You… promise?”

“I promise,” Steve swears and seals that with a kiss. “I promise. I love you, Bucky.”

A small, shaky smile twitches at the corners of Bucky’s mouth. Tears hug the corners of his eyes even if there’s something bright and wonderful on his face. An expression daring to border on the side of bliss. Of joy. 

Bucky kisses him back. Quick and almost chaste and then hides his face against his chest again. Hugs him close as Steve takes to petting his hand over his hair. Then he remembers what Natasha said about rubbing his back and does that, too. Bucky melts against him. Relaxes into his embrace and, after a little while, doesn’t seem as worried that Steve is going to take everything he’s just handed him away again.

“Steve?” he whispers.

“Yeah?”

“I…” He hesitates. “I can stay here? For the night?”

To be honest, Steve didn’t even consider that he wouldn’t, but now that it’s been brought up, Bucky’s tensed right back up. 

“Of course you can,” he assures him, and Bucky starts to relax again. “Do you need to call Natasha or Clint?” Steve’s phone is on his nightstand. He might even be able to reach it without really disturbing them. It’ll be a stretch but he can manage. 

“No,” Bucky answers. “I’m not with a customer. I’m with you.” There’s a smile in his voice. “They trust you.” 

There’s a smile to be had at that, but Steve’s not sure what makes him smile more -- the fact that Bucky’s friends trust him or the fact that Bucky’s here _with him_. Staying here. Because he wants to. Because he’s chosen to. Steve’s heart beats pleasantly with the thought, the knowledge -- the truth of it. 

“Steve?”

They’ve been quiet for some time now. Neither of them have moved out of the positions that Bucky doesn’t want to leave -- he’s kept his face buried in Steve’s chest this whole time -- while Steve trails his fingers along his bare back. 

“Yeah, Buck?”

He doesn’t say anything though. For so long that Steve actually starts to fall asleep, his hand fumbling and dropping as he tries to stay awake and keep rubbing Bucky’s back. So when he hears Bucky’s voice again, it sends a shock through his body.

“I… Steve…”

“Mm?” Steve holds back a yawns and cradles the back of his head. “What is it, baby?”

“Um… I…” 

The hesitation and nerves grab Steve’s attention. He gives Bucky an encouraging squeeze and murmurs, softly, “I love you, Bucky,” and Bucky’s next word breaks with a fractured whimper. 

He can feel Bucky smile against him. Bucky even presses another soft kiss to his chest before he curls his fingers around Steve’s arm and settles them there without the gripping fear that Steve might leave. Because Steve won’t. All Steve is interested in right now is holding Bucky close to him.

Then, just as Steve finds himself straddling that blurry line between asleep and awake, Bucky sucks in a quick breath and says into his chest, “I love you, too, Steve.”

Every inch of Steve springs to life. Golden rays of light shimmering giddily between each beat of his heart as Bucky’s words slip within it. 

“I love you, Bucky.” His joy is echoed in each word he says. Bucky snuggles into him some more. There’re tears. Steve can feel them as they splash against his skin as he holds him close. “So much, sweet boy.”

An incredibly peaceful feeling washes through him as he breathes in the world in a completely new way. 

A world in which Bucky Barnes is falling asleep in his bed. 

Tucked in his arms. 

And in love with him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, I really hope you enjoyed that! I know there's been so much build up to this ((and don't worry, there's more talking and working things out to come)) so I really hope there wasn't too much disappointment for anyone and to anyone who _was_ disappointed, I do apologize, but unfortunately, I can't please everyone. This is actually how I've had this planned right from the beginning and I do hope it worked well!
> 
> Alrighty well, I suppose that's it for now! Feel free to check my out on tumblr at [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/) a place for marvel and stucky and lots of fun!
> 
> Thanks for reading and, again, your continued patience!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know it's been 13 months since my last update and for those of you still interested and who come back to read, I offer my humblest apologies. Even to those who just see the update and choose not to read, I completely understand. But as I promised, I did finally get the chapter done! It's just that, well, life hasn't exactly been on my side. But I hope you enjoy the update! And there still is more to come!

Steve wakes to his alarm going off and a slight tingling in his arm -- the alarm because it's Monday and he's supposed to get ready for his morning classes, and the tingles because Bucky's still sleeping tucked into him. Still clutching at Steve, even in his sleep. Carefree sunbeams scatter across the room, playfully dancing along the floor as they make their way up the bed. One or two of them kiss softly into Bucky’s hair. A sweet glow that halos him the way Bucky's words did to Steve last night. 

Not wanting to wake him, Steve ignores the alarm -- which will go off after just a few minutes -- and pecks a gentle kiss to the tip of Bucky's nose. Bucky's face crinkles in response -- a cute, little twitch of his lips before he wiggles closer to Steve in his sleep. Steve smiles, finding no desire to move at all, and drifts back to sleep.

When he wakes again, those sunbeams have moved from dancing in Bucky's hair to resting right on his cheek. The room is brighter. Happier. The early morning glad to have Bucky there to cradle gently as it rises around them both.

Shifting a bit, Steve notices a slight problem. He doesn't have to move just yet but... he's going to have to use the bathroom sometime soon. It’s impossible to fall back to sleep after that. Even if he wanted to, the discomfort and growing need to shift about would keep him from doing so. The bathroom is only down the hall, but Bucky hasn’t budged. Not even an inch. There’s a bit of moisture at the corner of his mouth and he’s breathing so deeply that Steve wonders if he’ll even wake him if he moves to get out of bed. 

Still, Steve stays put. Even with the pressure in his bladder steadily increasing. He ignores it. Keeps from squirming as best he can. Bucky didn’t want him to leave and, damn it, Steve will not risk him waking alone. He just lays there with him, gently running the back of his fingers across Bucky's cheek. He looks so peaceful, sleeping soundly here in Steve's bed. The thought makes Steve's heart glow brighter than the sunbeams twirling across the blankets.

Bucky’s asleep in his bed. Not because he’s been paid to. Not out of any obligation. He’s asleep in Steve’s bed just because. More than just because. 

_I love you, too, Steve_.

Bucky’s here this morning because he loves him. 

The words sink further into Steve now than they did last night. They light a fire inside him. One he didn’t even know could burn so warm and bright. 

When Bucky does wake, just a little while later, he doesn't open his eyes right away. The only reason Steve even knows he's no longer sleeping is the change in his breathing. It's subtle, but Steve's been paying such close attention to the soft, rhythmic rise and fall of Bucky's chest, that he notices when it stops. Seconds later, the hand that's been resting gently over Steve's arm squeezes and all the muscles in Bucky's body tense up. Steve shifts a little, just to get a better look at his face. The second he does, Bucky's eyes squeeze tighter.

Steve smiles, brushing a few wisps of hair away from Bucky's brow and kisses the tip of his nose. Breathing out softly, Bucky, as if realizing Steve's aware he's awake, slowly opens his eyes. His gaze is lowered at first. Until it finally sweeps up and meets Steve's.

"Good morning," Steve greets.

His greeting, for some reason, has Bucky blushing so hard he hides his face back against Steve's chest. The way he did last night.

"Mornin'," Bucky says, shyly. He peers up again, pink still lingering in his cheeks. "Have you been up long?"

"Not long. You're cute when you sleep."

Smirking, Bucky buries his face again and mumbles something that Steve doesn't quite catch. Steve pets his head, lips pressed into his hair.

"What was that?" he asks.

"I said..." Bucky raises his voice, "I _am_ cute."

Steve chuckles. Whispers a kiss to the top of Bucky's head. Says, "Yes, you are," and would say more only when Bucky shifts a little, his knee presses right into Steve's bladder. Steve shudders, face contorting in every effort to keep control of what he hadn't realized was so bad until now.

"What's..." Bucky's voice drops. "What's wrong? Did I... should I leave? Do you want me to--"

"No, no!" Steve squirms again, his cheeks heating up as he tries not to move any more than that. "It's just..." He breathes out roughly. "I have to...go to the bathroom."

Bucky's eyebrows pull in. "Then, why didn't you just go?"

"Well, last night, you didn't want me to leave. I didn't want you to..." He wipes a hair away from Bucky's face. "Wake up alone."

Eyes glistening, Bucky folds his lips in and holds back a laugh. Until he can’t anymore and it rolls out of him hard enough that he just can’t seem to help tossing an arm around Steve to hug him for amusing him so much. But, of course, he’s still Bucky. 

“So, I probably shouldn’t…” His knee is suddenly pressing right against Steve’s abdomen. More and more. “Do this?”

“Bucky!” Steve squeaks. “No! You shouldn’t!”

Giggling like he’s some sort of evil mastermind, Bucky eases up and rolls over onto his back. He takes hold of Steve’s hand and kisses it.

“Go to the bathroom, you dork,” he says. “But… thanks. For… y’know. Carin’ and all.”

Before going anywhere at all, Steve sits up and hovers over Bucky, one arm on either side of him. 

“You make it easy,” he murmurs. Presses a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be right back.” 

He grabs a pair of sweats from off the floor and, though Steve’s not opposed to the idea of Bucky spending the rest of the day naked, offers him a change of clothes. 

“Top and bottom drawers,” Steve tells him. “Just plain tees and sweats.” 

Steve adds one more kiss to the top of Bucky’s head before he walks -- not skips, though there’s definitely an unintended skip to his step -- down the hall to the bathroom, leaving Bucky pink-cheeked and grinning. 

Once the ache in his bladder is relieved, Steve moves to the sink to wash his hands and while he's there, he figures it'll be a nice idea to freshen up a bit. Take care of some nasty morning breath and all that. Present a nice, clean face for that precious boy he loves so much waiting in his bedroom. Steve lights up with a smile thinking of Bucky waiting for him in there. He barely even recognizes the reflection in the mirror.

Can that really be him? Those sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks? Is that really his face staring back at him? The smile so big that his mouth should actually be hurting, but isn't. 

Really, Steve can't even remember a time he felt this happy.

"Shit, Rogers." He laughs at himself. "Get a grip."

Splashing some cold water on his face, Steve washes up, runs his toothbrush across his teeth, and needs to remind himself to walk, not run -- though that skip is still most definitely there -- back to his bedroom. Where he now finds Bucky sitting up in the bed still not dressed with the blankets tucked around him. Only, unlike Steve floating on clouds and singing with the sun, Bucky looks tense and rigid. Eyes swimming with worry and mouth pinched with regret. And Steve feels the ground come up hard and fast beneath him.

"Bucky?"

He glances up at Steve. Startled by Steve's quick return. Bucky quickly looks back down.

"I'm, uh, I'm sorry," Bucky mumbles to the blankets. "I should’t've said that."

Steve freezes, his heart twisting painfully beneath his ribs. He watches Bucky as he picks at little fuzzies on the blanket, choking back the potential heartache of the unsought for apology.

"Shouldn't have said what, Buck?" Steve asks.

Bucky's eyes flick back up to Steve for half a heartbeat before he drops them back to his lap, as though he's forgotten for that brief instant he doesn't want to look up. One shoulder lifts and falls. A nervous shrug, Steve's trip to the bathroom popping all the magic from last night. Their fairytale ending or beginning or something already over before it even began.

"Y'know," Bucky mumbles. "I get it and all. There's no pressure or nothing."

Mind blanking, Steve wants so badly to move back over to the bad, but his legs won't seem to listen to him anymore. He just stands there in the door, watching Bucky continue to pick at the blanket.

"Get what, Bucky?" he asks. "I don't understand."

It looks as though Bucky might go to look up at Steve again, but this time, he catches himself before he does. Bucky sighs and rubs his fingers into his eyes and suddenly looks like he could sleep for another twelve hours.

"I know things get said in the heat of the moment," he says, quietly. Sadly, even. Like it's the last thing he wants to say or even talk about. "So... y'know... what I said..." He sighs. "I won't hold it to ya or nothin' if you don't--"

Steve's not sure when his legs decided to start working again, but he's sure glad they did, because he definitely needs to be on the bed with Bucky right now, cradling his face in his hands so that he can look at him.

"James Buchanan Barnes," Steve says. "If you think I said any of that just in the heat of the moment, you're _wrong_. I _love_ you, Bucky. I meant it last night. I mean it now. I _love you,_ Bucky Barnes."

Beneath his palms, Steve can feel Bucky's jaw tighten as tears glisten in his eyes. A small sound gets caught in the back of his throat before he releases a jagged, silent sob and throws himself forward to kiss Steve. It's not graceful at all. In fact, he sort of collides with Steve's mouth, teeth scraping against teeth and their chests bumping, and Steve is shocked enough that his eyes are still open so he can see the few tears that managed to slip free of Bucky's tightly closed ones. But they're kissing anyway, sloppy yet intense with Bucky's arms wrapped around Steve's neck.

It takes a few seconds for Steve to think to do something other than exchange kisses with him, his brain short-circuiting with the sudden mood whiplash, but he finally puts his hands on Bucky's hips and pulls him a little closer. Bucky puts up no protest and even wiggles himself onto Steve's lap, their kisses evening out to something a little neater.

"Steve," Bucky pants when he breaks away. He doesn't look at Steve though, choosing, instead to keep his face hidden at the side of Steve's neck. "I..." Voice cracking, he wraps himself around Steve and tries again. "I meant it, too."

Steve pets a hand over Bucky’s head, gently slipping fingers under his chin and guiding their lips together again. He means it to only be a quick kiss -- just a sweet, soft kiss to seal their words together into something more than just the empty promise of a heated moment -- but when they catch each other’s gaze Steve can see the same fire in Bucky he feels within himself. 

Fingers curled in Bucky’s hair, Steve tugs him back in. Bucky groans against his mouth and tries to get himself even more onto Steve’s lap. His legs wrap around Steve and as Steve’s hands lower to Bucky’s hips, Bucky’s arms clasp behind Steve’s neck. 

The bed creaks beneath them. It’s the only other sound in the room beside smacking lips and heavy breaths and the occasional moan that Steve’s not even sure which of them they come from. Bucky moves on top of him, working Steve’s sweats down to his thighs and hips rocking back and forth. Slow, but enthusiastic, cock already as hard as Steve’s. 

Steve missed this. Oh, _god_ did he miss this. Bucky. All of him. The closeness. The feel of him. The touch of his skin against Steve’s. Those pretty sounds. He just missed _everything_. How anything Bucky does gets Steve’s heart racing. Glowing. 

“I missed you,” Steve pants as he takes to kissing up Bucky’s throat. Bucky automatically tilts his head back. Offers better access. “I’ve missed you so much, sweet boy.” 

Moaning softly, Bucky turns his head so that Steve can kiss up his neck. Lips running along Bucky’s clavicles, Steve pulls him in closer so he can suck harder, keeping him trapped between his arms and his nose. Any more space between them would be far too much. 

On Steve’s lap, Bucky is beginning to tremble, hips rocking back and forth in long, drawn motions. Almost as though he’s trying to tease Steve while making himself more and more restless with each thrust he makes. A whimper falls from his lips. Slight. So soft that if Steve were to release the heavy breath that comes out a second later he’d’ve missed it. 

Steve breathes a kiss across Bucky’s taut nipple. Another. Trails his fingers ever so gently down the columns of Bucky’s spine and Bucky shivers in his arms, head dropping forward and landing on Steve’s shoulder where he takes to kissing and sucking on Steve’s neck. 

A grin tugs at Steve’s mouth. He keeps it up. The soft touches, the easy rocking, the light kissing. That alone is making Bucky shake and pant and sweat. Even bury his face between Steve’s neck and shoulder to suck harder at the skin there as though he just can’t take what Steve’s doing. Steve wonders if Bucky will always react this way. If it’s just his natural response to the sweet, tender act of love making. 

“Bucky,” Steve murmurs. And can’t go any further yet since Bucky shocks him by catching his mouth in another kiss. Steve chuckles into it and kisses back. Kisses more as Bucky’s hands grip into his hair. “Bucky,” he tries again when they part for a quick breath. “I love you.” 

There’s no chance for Bucky to respond beyond a groan against Steve’s mouth since he moves that quickly to resume their kissing. Steve doesn’t know if he’d return the sentiment anyway. He hasn’t said the words themselves since last night, but he won’t pressure Bucky to say them again. He said them. He said he meant them. He’s here with him. Straddled over Steve’s lap and worked into quite the frenzy with just a few light touches and kisses. 

Bucky moans again and shifts. Wraps himself tighter around Steve’s waist to let their cocks rub together. The friction alone -- so much and not enough at all -- is driving Steve wild with desire yet he’s not ready to take more. Bucky’s enjoying this. The sweet, tormenting delight of teasing himself on Steve’s lap.

“Fuck,” Bucky breathes in between kissing. “Holy shit, Steve.” He whimpers when Steve pushes his hips up into his. “ _O мой Бог.”_ Bucky’s movements are picking up now, and he kisses deeper and firmer, his fingers knotted in Steve’s hair. “ _я люблю тебя._ ” He sucks in a deep breath. “So fuckin’ much. I love you so fuckin’ much, Steve…” 

Steve’s heartbeat picks up even more than it had been. A thrill that flutters through him and tingles every speck of his existence. He’s smiling. Ear to ear. He can’t help it. So big and wide even while trying to keep up with Bucky’s kisses, and Steve would say it back to him, but before he can Bucky jerks away with an abrupt and horrified gasp. 

Everything is different. The warm, honeyed morning suddenly frozen in this moment. A moment where Bucky stares at Steve like he’s been struck fast and hard, and Steve never saw it coming to keep it from happening. 

“What?” Steve asks, having to keep his hands at Bucky’s waist so that he doesn’t tumble off his lap. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

At first, Bucky just shakes his head at him. Steve tries again to ask what happened. If he hurt him if something’s wrong if he should do something for him. All the while Bucky continues to simply stare.

“Bucky?” Steve holds a hand to his cheek. “Baby, what happened?” 

Pressing Steve’s hand against his cheek a little more, Bucky folds his lips in and closes his eyes before slowly working his way off of Steve’s lap. He stands there naked, his arousal disappearing, same as Steve’s, and swallows hard. 

“Steve…” Bucky lowers his head. “I’m sorry. I… I can’t do this.”

“What?” Panic washes over Steve like cold water. He freezes as Bucky backs away towards the door. “But you… you _just_ said…”

“I know,” he agrees. Doesn’t stop backing up. “I’m so sorry, Steve.” 

Bucky turns then and leaves the room. With Steve’s heart. He must have since Steve can no longer feel it beating in his chest. For a moment, Steve just sits at the edge of his bed. Stunned. Hurt. Trying to wrap his mind around what’s just happened. 

Out in the living room, he can hear Bucky putting on his clothes. If Steve doesn’t do something, he’s going to leave. It only takes another second for Steve’s mind and heart to finally reconnect. He’s not about to let Bucky leave like this. Certainly not with at least an explanation. Something to make sense of all this. 

Steve quickly pulls his sweats back up and goes out there after him. Almost fully dressed already, Bucky’s about to sit down on the couch to put his shoes on when Steve catches him by the elbow and doesn’t let him. 

“ _Don’t_ do this,” Steve says. Tries to keep his voice soft, but a mix of hurt and even traces of anger comes out with it. “Why are you running from me? From this? After everything that happened last night, why are you doing this?” 

The first thing Bucky does is take his arm back. Steve lets him of course and Bucky doesn’t bother trying to finish dressing. 

“You don’t understand,” Bucky whispers. “I have to.”

“ _Why_?” Steve asks. “You said you loved me. Did you mean it or not?”

Bucky looks at him like he’s actually thinking about lying. A few months ago, Steve would have never guessed he’d see such a look on his face. Bucky knows how to lie. He knows how to charm and finesse and work a lie into the most beautiful sounding truth.

But right now Steve can see the conflict tear through him. Like he just can’t remember how to do that with Steve. So Bucky nods. 

“Yes,” he says. “I meant it. I mean it.”

Too much is boiling inside of Steve to answer right away. So many emotions tangling and knotting together that Steve can’t begin to pick away at them. Feels like just seconds ago he was beaming at himself in the mirror and now Bucky’s stomping all over that. Smashed it into a million pieces and left Steve in the mess of it. Unable to settle this tightness in his chest, Steve sits on the couch. Rests his head in his hands and can’t look back up at Bucky. 

Steve doesn’t know if he’s heart is breaking or already broken, but the pain that shoots through him is unrelenting. A hand wrapping around his throat and strangling the breath right out of him. 

“I’m _trying_ here, Bucky,” Steve manages to get out. Tries to keep his breathing even and steady when all he wants to do is let loose a string of emotions that he doesn’t even understand. “I’m _never_ going to pressure you for anything, but I need you to give me _something_ to work with. If you don’t--”

He stops when Bucky sits next to him. Steve wonders if he’s just going to pull on his shoes and leave. Bucky doesn’t. He’s not even holding his shoes anymore. 

Steve waits. For how long, he’s not sure, but he’s pretty certain that Bucky’s sat with him so he can say something. 

“I don’t wanna hurt anymore.” 

Bucky says it softly and without looking at Steve. There’s a complicated expression on his face when he does turn to look at him. As though he’s splitting another layer of himself open for Steve and didn’t realize until this very moment. Now that he’s ready to do it. 

“I want to be with someone who loves _all_ of me.”

“But Bucky--”

“No,” Bucky interrupts. “Please, lemme say this. I’ve tried this before, Steve,” he admits. “With a couple of people who knew me first and then found out what I did and said they didn’t care. But…” 

All he has to do is shake his head and Steve gets it. Maybe it lasted for a few days, maybe even a few weeks, but it didn’t last. Because they backed out on him. Couldn’t hold up their promise of seeing him as a person and not the job he did. 

“I just kept gettin’ hurt, kept thinkin’ Brock…” The mention of Brock’s name has Bucky’s voice fading for a moment. “He was… was right. No one was ever gonna wanna be with me so I decided not to even bother anymore. And I was doing _fine_.” Bucky’s face grows hard then and he throws that look in Steve’s direction. “And then _you_ came along. _You_ and your cookin’ and being all _nice_ to me and askin’ me to text you when I got home and I thought… I thought maybe… just _maybe_ someone _could_ care about me. _Want_ me. I just never, not in a million years, thought _you’d_ …”

Bucky trails off then and Steve can’t possibly imagine what it is about _him_ that makes Bucky think he’s so unworthy of his love. Why Bucky holds him in such high regard. All this time Steve’s been falling head over heels in love with Bucky while Bucky never even thought Steve could feel so strongly for him.

“I shouldn’t’ve let what happened last night happen,” Bucky murmurs, and what’s left of Steve’s heart instantly shrivels. “It’s just… you said those things and…” Bucky’s not crying, but his voice holds the making of tears. “I just wanted to know what it’d be like to make love with you. To just… feel you love me.” He keeps Steve’s gaze then and says, “I’m so sorry, Steve. I hope I didn’t ruin everything by doing that.”

Hit with a rush of tears, Steve’s vision fades for a second, Bucky becoming just a fuzzy blur in front of him. He shakes his head. Sucks in a jagged breath as the first tears roll down his cheeks. 

“No.” Steve’s voice cracks. “Of course not.” 

Is this really it then? He promised Bucky that he’d be whatever he needed him to be and he’s not going to break that promise at the first test of trust, but he had no idea how much this would hurt. 

“I just… don’t understand.” Steve needs a second so that his voice is steady. “Why? Why did you give them a chance? Why won’t you… why not _me_?”

“Steve…” Bucky shifts to his knees and wipes his thumbs under Steve’s eyes. “Because… it’s _because_ I love you. I didn’t love them. I love _you_.” The tears do come then. Like he just can’t help some inevitable future from tormenting him. “And I’d rather only have had a piece of you once than risk you seein’ me differently one day and losing you forever.”

Sighing, Steve drops his head down to Bucky’s shoulder. He’s not exactly looking for comfort. Especially when he understands just why Bucky is reluctant to give him the same chance he gave to those few lucky others who, instead of cherishing such a chance, threw it back in Bucky’s face. Really, Steve just wants to feel close to him. This might be it for that.

“Please, don’t cry over me, Steve. I promise you, I ain’t worth it.”

Steve lifts his head back up though for a moment he’s not entirely sure how he’s managed -- it feels much too heavy. Still, he gazes into Bucky’s watery eyes and wishes he could get it all through to him. That there’s plenty reason to cry over him. Cry and smile and laugh and every emotion imaginable. And that he’s so very, very worth every tear he has. 

There have been cracks in those walls Bucky keeps himself locked behind. Steve’s seen them. He’s even had the delightful pleasure of being let behind them -- evident by everything that went on last night. But now those walls are rising back up and shutting Steve out again. Maybe some streaks of sunlight will break through those cracks, but for now, Steve is left standing alone. 

“Bucky,” Steve murmurs. “I can’t promise that I won’t hurt you. Just like you can’t promise you won’t hurt me.” Gathering Bucky’s cheeks between his hands, Steve presses their brows together. “But I _can_ promise you that I want to try and that I’m going to do everything I can _not_ to hurt you.”

“Steve…”

Bucky’s voice cracks, and for a second, Steve’s ready to just scoop him into his arms and forget about the rest. He’ll gladly cut himself open so that Bucky doesn’t have to feel an ounce of pain. But Steve knows he’s no good to Bucky if he bleeds himself dry. He moves away from him, knowing what he needs to do no matter how much it hurts.

“This can’t happen again, Bucky,” he says. “You can _not_ do this to me again.” 

Steve doesn’t mean to sound so harsh. To make Bucky wince at the sound of his words that might come out like a slap in the face. But he does need to make him understand. There are two broken hearts in this room. 

“I’m not asking for till death do us part or anything, but I do need you to decide. If you just want to be friends, then this can’t…” Steve needs to clear his throat. “We can’t do anything like this. I can’t do it again.” Petting a gentle hand over Bucky’s head, Steve asks, “So, do you wanna be just friends, Bucky? Cause I really need to know.”

The answer might be a dagger through his ribs, but if that’s what it takes to make that line between them clear again then it’s pain that Steve will just have to endure. He can feel the tip of the blade already pushing into his skin. Almost hard enough to draw blood. 

Eyes squeezing closed, Bucky bites down on his lip hard enough that his entire face scrunches. There’re red splotches on his cheeks and it looks like he can’t swallow. When he opens his eyes again, they’re not yet overflowing, but definitely filled with tears. One emotion away from spilling over. His lips press together when he shakes his head. Quick, fevered little shakes like he’s not quite sure how to execute them correctly. 

“N-no.” Bucky’s voice comes out so small. “I want more, I do. I just… dunno how to get it, Steve.” 

Though he’s not really sure if he should right now, Steve eases his hands forward and takes hold of Bucky’s. Bucky doesn’t stop him. He even squeezes around Steve’s fingers as though he never wants to let go. 

“There’s no real answer to that, Bucky,” Steve says. “Sometimes it takes a leap of faith. Sometimes you just have to jump into the deep end and swim to the other side together and see what happens.”

Bucky’s trembling so hard Steve’s actually beginning to worry he might have a panic attack. He hasn’t taken his eyes off of Steve though. Not this time. This time he watches Steve with tearful eyes and quivering lips, and when those tears finally spill one by one, Bucky holds tightly onto Steve’s hands.

“Please, don’t hurt me, Steve,” he whimpers. Almost childlike, pleading with Steve to keep him whole when so many other have left him broken. “Please. You’re just… you’re one of my best friends, Steve, and I… I just…” 

“Bucky, I love you,” Steve murmurs. “I love you so much that it _hurts_. All I want is for you to see yourself through my eyes. To see yourself the way _I_ see you. Intelligent.” He kisses Bucky’s cheek. “Loyal.” He kisses the other. “Sweet.” He kisses his nose. “Funny.” He kisses his brow. “Adorable.” He kisses one eye. “Kind.” He kisses the other. “Generous.” He kisses Bucky’s lips. “The most wonderful person I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. Please, give me this chance, Bucky.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds. Seconds that seem to drag on for hours and hours with Bucky and nothing but the dripping silence that hangs between them. Until Bucky lets out a small breath and cracks something of an amazed smile. He reaches out to touch Steve’s face. 

“I’m so, so scared, Steve. But…” Bucky closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath. “Maybe jumpin’ into the deep end won’t be so scary if you’re… jumpin’ with me?”

That blade which has been pressed against Steve’s body slowly begins to retreat. Bucky’s watching him with such cautious, worried eyes. As though waiting for Steve to suddenly change his mind just when he’s brave enough to try handing over his heart again.

“We can… swim together,” Steve offers, sticking to the metaphor that seems to be working for Bucky. “Doggie paddle if we have to.”

An appreciative smile tugs at the corners of Bucky’s mouth. Lowering his head, he fiddles a bit with his fingers and nibbles on his lip before he puts his head against Steve’s shoulder. He’s a little stiff. A little unsure. Uncertain how to proceed down this road presented before him, but still willing to take that step. 

“I don’t understand what I did to deserve you, Steve,” he whispers. “But I’m really glad you think I do.”

Steve has a long list of ways to answer that. He could chew Bucky’s ear off if he really wanted to listen to that. But before he can even rattle off one thing, Bucky jumps a little and pulls his phone out. He runs his thumb across the screen and whatever text he reads makes him scoff a laugh. 

“Oh, sure _now_ you’re gettin’ worried about me,” Bucky grumbles. Starts typing up a reply and then glances over at Steve. “Uh… wait, you weren’t… plannin’ on going to class today, right?”

“No, or...” He changes that. “I thought maybe we could--”

Before Steve can finish that, Bucky’s phone starts buzzing again, this time with a call. A picture of Natasha flashes across the screen. One of her giving him a smirk and flipping him off. 

“Hello,” Bucky answers. “Yeah, I was just texting you ba--” He sighs through a smile. “Oh, yeah… well, how was the _ballet_?” Bucky cringes at whatever Natasha says. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. No, I, um, I don’t think I’m comin’ in today. Oh, I… I think…” Bucky takes a quick glimpse at Steve through the corner of his eyes. “Uh… I think I might be… staying… here? For a little while?” 

Warmth runs through Steve. Bucky’s going to stay. He’s not rushing to get out of here like he was a little while ago. The room lights up with a few yellow ribbons of sunlight that trickle in through the window as Bucky says a few more things to Natasha. Steve is trying not to really listen. Though Bucky has hardly tried to keep the conversation a secret, Steve doesn’t want to intrude. 

This is hard enough for Bucky as it is. That, Steve knows. To lower those walls and let someone new take a step over the threshold. To allow that person the privilege of staying on the same side of those walls with him when they go back up. Steve doesn’t know if he’s made that much progress yet, but Bucky lets him see what’s on the other side of those walls. More than just glimpses and peeks. And now, Steve thinks, Bucky wants him to at least climb to the top to look over. 

“Well, I… I dunno,” Bucky’s saying. “I mean, we sorta… we talked. A little.” He’s almost turned away from Steve. Not completely. “Because you _called_ and _interrupted_.” Whatever Natasha says next makes Bucky smother his face with his other hand. “I think… maybe we’re… kinda… dating?” 

Dating. Such a simple, normal word, but it makes Steve beam when it’s Bucky using it about them. The word gently holds Steve’s heart. He almost floats away. 

Bucky takes a peek over at him when he says it though. As if he’s not entirely sure the word suits them and what they’ve discussed. Steve places a hand over Bucky’s knee. Rubs circles with his thumb. They’ll work through it. Whatever this is, if Bucky’s willing to give Steve the chance, they’ll work through it.

“Steve?”

Steve hadn’t even realized Bucky got off the phone already. It’s tucked between both his hands. Being squeezed. 

“Yeah?”

“Was that… okay?” Bucky asks. “Tellin’ Nat that? I know we didn’t, like, really decide or nothin’ _officially_ , but…”

“No.” Steve shakes his head. “I mean, yes. It’s fine. More than fine.” 

He reaches over to save Bucky’s phone from his Herculean grip and places it gently between them. For a few moments, Bucky just looks back at him.

“And it’s… okay that I stay here for a while? So, like, we can, I dunno… talk? And, I mean… _shit_ , I dunno what’s wrong with me can I take a shower?” 

That catches Steve by surprise. He can only blink at him for a few second before he realizes what Bucky’s really just asked. 

“Um. Sure?” Steve shakes his head to try fit all those pieces of what Bucky’s just said together to form one coherent picture. “You can stay here for as long as you like. And we can talk about whatever we have to. We’ll figure this out together, baby. Whatever that takes. And, yes…” He can’t really help the way his eyebrows pull in, still confused by the random request. “You can take a shower.” 

Bucky tries to lift the corner of his mouth, but only gets a little ways. He shrugs instead, as though understanding of Steve’s confusion.

“I think best in the shower. It clears my head and stuff.” 

“Ah.” Steve smiles and stands. Gestures for Bucky to follow him back to the bedroom.

That, Steve does understand. He offers Bucky a change of clothes, hoping that a t-shirt and boxers and sweats that’re too big for him will do. Accepting, Bucky takes everything and heads towards the bathroom. Steve tells him the toothbrush he used the last time he was here in the morning is still in the cabinet. He gets a little smile for that and nothing else as Bucky closes the door behind him. 

Steve stands outside the door for a few minutes. Waits for the shower to turn on before sighing and walking away. It’s been a whirlwind of a morning. Steve considers what he should do next. While waiting. If he just sits around, his mind is going to make up all sorts of horrible scenarios. Of Bucky coming back out of the shower and deciding he wants nothing to do with Steve. Of Bucky trying to sneak out of the bathroom window and climb down a three-story flight just to escape. Of Bucky laughing in Steve’s face. Of--

Breakfast. Breakfast is a much better thing to be thinking about than all the things that could be running through Bucky’s head. Besides, Steve has no idea what Bucky’s thinking about so it’s probably better to just get something like breakfast started. That’ll be a nice treat anyway. 

Cooking, Steve’s found, has come in very handy over the past few months. Not just for the obvious reasons of having more to eat than Hamburger Helper or Mac and Cheese or take-out, but for the ability to keep busy. It’s nice to be able to do something so domestic-like.

Like now. Getting eggs and bread and bacon. Watching them sizzle over the open flame under the frying pan. Turning them over at just the precise time so they don’t burn. Putting the bread in the toaster at the right moment so that the toast will be ready in time. 

Steve is able to get lost in it. In all the steps. One by one, adding this and that to create something just like he does with his art. Even something as simple as eggs and bacon. 

There's a soft noise behind him and it takes a valiant effort for Steve not to turn around at the sound of it. He can't help how his spine stiffens, that happens anyway. The eggs in the frying pan are just about done though, so he's able to focus on breakfast. On taking the plate from the counter and scooping them onto it along with the toast and bacon. Steve takes in a deep breath and turns around.

Bucky's not all the way in the kitchen yet. He's standing just in the doorway -- hair still a little damp, but he's spent enough time in the bathroom that it's mostly dried now. The t-shirt Steve gave to him is at least a size too big and his legs look too thin in those boxers and Steve wants to smile, but he holds that back too. Bucky's got his arms sort of wrapped around himself, almost like he's afraid he'll unravel if he lets go.

"You can sit down," Steve murmurs. Might startle Bucky a bit since he jumps a little when he looks up. "You don't have to linger over there."

First looking at the plate of food in Steve's hand, Bucky nods and slowly makes his way over to the table. He’s got his phone again. Places it down on the table very close to him like it’s a security blanket. 

"That for me?" he asks. Quiet and unsure. He gives Steve a timid grin. "Eggs and bacon? You gettin' all domestic on me, narc?"

Steve's heart breathes a little easier. Not full, deep breaths yet, but an improvement. Enough that his lip curls into a smile as he lifts the plate.

"I could get rid of it if you don't want it."

"Mm." Bucky shakes his head. "It smells okay. I could give it a shot."

"You have such faith in me, huh?" Steve says as he puts the food down in front of him. "Juice?"

Bucky just blinks. "What?"

"I have orange juice. Do you want some?"

"O-oh." Bucky pushes some of the eggs around on the plate. "Sure. Yeah."

That tightness in Steve's stomach makes itself known again when Bucky keeps his gaze down on the food. It won't go away. This isn't going to be easy. But then, no one ever said it would be.

Steve puts a hand over Bucky's before going to get his drink. It makes Bucky tense, but he doesn't pull away. He just swallows hard and looks up.

"It's gonna be okay, Bucky." The hand under his turns and grips on. Holds tight for the only support he can find. "We'll figure this out. I promise."

Panic passes across his face before Bucky closes his eyes. "Promise again?"

Moving in slowly, Steve presses a kiss to Bucky's brow. Pets a hand over his head and lifts their hands to hold to his chest. He'll promise Bucky the moon and gather all the stars in night sky if he can't get him that.

"I promise, baby."

A warm smile touches Bucky’s face. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something and instead tucks that smile back. Before he can say anything at all, Bucky takes a scoop of eggs and shoves them into his mouth. His eyes grow a little after only one chew.

“Wow.” Bucky slowly chews some more. “These’re… real good.”

Steve chuckles and nibbles on a strip of bacon. “They’re just scrambled eggs. Didn’t do much to them.”

Bucky washes that first bite down with some orange juice and shrugs before digging back in.

“Still good. I can’t make eggs like this.” He tries a piece of bacon. “I mean, bacon is bacon. Actually, one time? My mom made this bacon around a beef thing? Like roast beef or somethin’, I forget.” Bucky slides some egg onto a slice of toast and takes a big bite. Goes on talking before swallowing. “Anyway. _That_ was, like, _the_ best bacon ever. It’s never tasted like that again. But this is good, too, I like it.” 

Another chuckle rumbles through Steve’s chest. Just enough to catch Bucky’s attention. He blushes, probably realizing he’s been rambling about bacon. 

“Thank you,” Steve replies. “I’m glad you like the food.”

Sighing, Bucky rolls his eyes at himself, clearly tries to glare at Steve only can’t muster up the proper expression. He just fights back another grin.

“Shut up,” he mutters.

Before Steve can tell him he hasn’t said anything, he notices Bucky’s hand sliding a little closer to his along the table. Slow and uncertain, but searching for something. Just like this whole morning. Steve meets him halfway. Let’s the tips of their fingers meet. A spark igniting in a single touch. Bucky doesn’t quite take hold of Steve’s hand like Steve thought. Instead, he loops their pinkies together. Somehow, that feels even sweeter. 

It’s quiet for a little while. Only the sounds the clacking forks and clinking glasses to cover the winding gears of two thinking minds. The air isn’t singing with tension though. It’s almost calm. Just… waiting. Waiting with the hope that comes from two fingers twined together. 

“So.” Bucky’s the one who breaks the silence. “I was thinking…” 

When he goes no further than that, instead just flicking his gaze at Steve through his lashes, Steve nods for him to go on. 

“You were thinking?”

“You said, uh, last night, that it’s not _what_ I do that bothers you.” Bucky’s slowly moving the fork around on his plate. Concentrating very hard on that. “Or, at least--”

“It’s not enough that I don’t want to be with you, Buck,” Steve says. “I won’t tell you that I’m not occasionally gonna get jealous or feel weird about it. I know I will.” He slips a hand under Bucky’s chin. “But none of that takes away from the fact that _this_ is the Bucky I fell in love with. And I’m not gonna ask you to change.”

Bucky stares at him. Two bright orbs just glowing in the middle of Steve’s kitchen. But much to Steve’s surprise, Bucky whispers, “You gotta stop doin’ that. I can’t think straight.” 

At first, Steve doesn’t know what Bucky means. All he’s trying to do is reassure him that he’s not trying to make him into something he’s not comfortable with. Or pressure him into doing things he’s not ready to do. Then, it occurs to him that Bucky’s not talking about what Steve’s saying. It’s what he’s doing. Steve takes his fingers away from his chin and Bucky sighs. Mumbles something to himself with a small chuckle. 

“So, um, since you said…” He clears his throat. “That you’re worried about me gettin’ hurt or…”

He trails off there, not saying the worst scenarios that have run through Steve’s mind a hundred times a night before. 

“Yes.” Steve’s throat is tight, but knowing Bucky understands his concerns is a huge relief. “I hate not knowing if you’re safe.”

Steve huffs at himself. Knows how obsessive and paranoid that probably makes him sound. He doesn’t want Bucky to think that he expects him to suddenly check in every moment of every day. There might be a thin line between concerned and possessive, and Steve doesn’t want to cross it, even if his heart does look at Bucky and screams _mine, mine, mine_. 

Only Bucky doesn’t appear put off by Steve’s words or phrasing at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. He smiles softly. Taps a finger on the table.

“I have this app,” he tells Steve. “It’s kinda like this tracking thing. Anyone I add to it can tell where I am as long as my phone is on. Right now, Nat and Clint are the only ones on it. It even alerts them every time I get home no matter where I’ve been. But maybe I could, y’know, add you?”

So touched by Bucky’s offer, tears hug the corners of Steve’s eyes. That’s more than he could ever ask for. More than he could hope for. And Bucky’s the one who’s presented it to him. 

“You’d do that?” Steve asks. “For me?”

Bucky meets his gaze again as though surprised by Steve’s response. A few thoughts appear in those eyes of his, each of them dancing around like a tiny flame until they flicker out and he ends up simply lifting his lips and lowering his chin. 

“I just figured…” Bucky sighs and drops the fork down onto the plate. “I know this can’t be easy for you, Steve, and if… if you’re really willing to give this a shot with me I wanna make it as easy as possible for you.” 

The kitchen tenses along with Steve. While Bucky watches his plate, now picking at some bacon again, Steve regards his own food with cautious uncertainty. 

Maybe Bucky’s offer _is_ too good to be true. Just because Steve’s been allowed behind certain walls doesn’t mean Bucky’s really ready to let him through all of them. This wouldn’t be the first time Bucky’s been willing to compromise his own comfort for the sake of someone else. Like when they first met and the poor boy wouldn’t even enforce his own limits out of fear his customers wouldn’t accept them. 

Worried that might be what’s happening now, Steve drums fingers over the table and thinks on what Bucky’s offering. 

“You’re not worried I’m gonna stalk you?” Steve asks. It’s the first thing he comes up with. “Check on you all the time or something?” 

Bucky snorts. Stuffs some food in his mouth and says, “You wouldn’t do that.” 

Just like that. No question. No suspicion. Bucky says it like it’s an inarguable fact. He really just trusts Steve that much. 

“You’re right. I wouldn’t.” Steve grins even though Bucky’s focused on his plate. “Thank you, Bucky.” 

“Oh, and also--” Bucky doesn’t comment on Steve’s gratitude. He just goes right into his next point. “I don’t usually meet customers the way I did you.”

“Wait you… you don’t?”

Steve is genuinely surprised by that. He really had no idea and can’t imagine how else Bucky would be gaining customers. A night out at the bar. His sixth sense picking up on someone watching him move to the music. Putting on a show. Striking up a conversation. Hook. Line. Sinker. 

“No.” Bucky shakes his head. “I told you once, that when I first started, I put an ad in the personals on Craigslist.” Right, Steve remembers that. “For a while I just did it that way. But then I met up with this one guy just a few years older than me who was really cool and he suggested making my own website.” 

“So, you did?” Steve asks. “You have a website?”

“Get Bucked dot com.” Bucky chuckles proudly. “You’ve been on it before.” 

“I… I have?”

“Yeah.” He chuckles again. “On Thanksgiving?”

That’s right. What Steve remembers most about that day is Bucky showing up at his door with Thanksgiving dinner. The kiss he shared with Steve even though their time was up. But they had cammed that morning. Bucky even texted him throughout the afternoon seeking permission to come since Steve hadn’t let him during their session. 

“Right,” Steve says. “I remember.” 

“Yeah.” A blush warms Bucky’s cheeks and he looks down at his fingers. “That’s how… I mean, that’s how I’ve gotten most of my customers. Some of them are regulars.” He picks up his phone and shows Steve a group of contacts. “Y’know, some who call for me once or twice a month or just call at least every few weeks. And then other people just wanna hook up once and that’s it. Um.” Bucky shakes his head. “But anyway, the point is, if you want, maybe I could… stick to my regulars and camming a little more. Maybe take new people when you, uh…”

He trails off then, the words frittering away as though he just can’t keep them together anymore. Eyes falling, Steve not entirely sure, but he thinks Bucky might actually be embarrassed. 

“When I what, Buck?” 

“Y’know.” Bucky turns the phone over in his hands. “When you… say I… can?”

Eyebrows shooting up, Steve really can’t believe his ears. “You’d… trust me with that?”

Looks like Steve’s question surprises Bucky more than Bucky’s idea shocked Steve. He looks back at Steve like he’s crazy before rolling his eyes with a scoff. 

“You’re really hung up on this trust thing, aren’t you?” Bucky smirks at him. “Steve, I let you tie me up and spank me and blindfold me. I think _maybe_ I trust you.”

Only so much though, really. Just a little while ago, Bucky was trying to flee here. Terrified of even trying to pursue a relationship beyond friendship with Steve. Keeping a tight hold on his heart.

He’s trying now though. Harder than Steve could have imagined. Bucky might be holding onto his heart with one hand, but he’s still holding it out to Steve. Still opening that box it’s been locked within and giving Steve the rare privilege of taking a peek inside. Of cradling it in his own two hands even if only under Bucky’s strict supervision. 

There is one thing, however, that makes him a little nervous about what Bucky’s suggesting. 

“I’m not gonna…” Steve tugs at the collar of his shirt even though it’s by no means too tight. “I’m not gonna be your pimp or anything.” 

For the first time all morning, Bucky bursts out laughing. Having just taken a sip of his juice, he needs to clap a hand over his mouth to keep from spitting it out all over the table. He needs to stay in that position -- trying to stay perfectly still with his mouth covered -- for almost a full minute before he can finally swallow. Before he can even say anything, he needs a bit of time to really laugh. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Bucky gets out between another bout of laughter. Face all lit up, and even though he’s laughing at _him_ , Steve hardly cares when he looks bright as a sunrise. “I ain’t givin’ you _my_ money, narc.” He wipes at the few diamond drops in his eyes. “I just meant that it’ll be okay if _you’re_ not okay with me takin’ on new customers for a while. Or only once and awhile. Whatever.” There’s a cute twitch of a grin still on Bucky’s lips. “Does… that help? Any of--”

“Yes,” Steve interrupts. “It does. All of it. Talking about it helps a lot, too, so will it be okay if I need to do that sometimes? Talk about it?”

Bucky’s face brightens. “Really? I mean… yeah! No one ever wanted… uh, everyone else just wanted to pretend it just didn’t exist. You’re sure you wanna talk about that stuff?”

“This is a part of you, Bucky. A big part.” He taps his fingers over Bucky’s wrist. “You said before you wanted someone to love _all_ of you. And I do. That’s open-ended, by the way. If you’re ever feeling bad or upset about something going on, nothing is taboo. _Nothing_. If we’re gonna make this work, we need to be open with each other as much as possible.” 

A little something happens then. Steve’s words causing a bit of conflict to run through Bucky. Steve doesn’t think it’s nearly as great as it was earlier when Bucky tried to run out. If anything, whatever he’s just thought of is sudden and out of nowhere. An idea that’s been housed by a bubble that’s literally just popped and latched onto his mind. 

Steve gets no chance to ask about it since Bucky is abruptly very interested in clearing off the table. He even asks if Steve is done and, even though Steve could take a few more bites of food, Bucky takes all of the dishes before he can answer. He goes to the sink, stands there for a second like he’s not sure what to do since there are still scraps on the plate, and then realizes he should just scrape what’s left into the garbage.

When Bucky begins to wash the dishes, Steve starts to pick up on something. Something that makes his heart beat with an easy smile. Bucky’s not panicking like before. He’s nervous, yes, but there’s something more to what’s going on than that, and what makes this so wonderful is that Steve knows Bucky well enough to see that. 

Quietly, Steve gets out of his chair and moves behind Bucky, where he’s just placed the second glass in the drainboard. Placing his hands on both of Bucky’s shoulders -- Bucky jumps a little under them -- Steve guides him away from the counter. First reaching over him to turn the water off, Steve gently turns him around and lowers himself down just enough to meet Bucky’s eyes. 

“Is there something we should be talking about _now_ , Bucky?”

Peering back at him with wide, round eyes, a noise gets caught in Bucky’s throat. Something between a groan and a whimper that he tries to clear more than once with little success until he finally just sighs and shakes his head.

“You… do you promise not to laugh?” he asks. 

Well, that’s not what he expected. Steve can’t imagine what Bucky would want to talk about right now that would make him laugh, but if that’s what he needs then that’s what Steve needs to give to him.

“Yes? Or, wait.” Steve holds his hand up. “If I laugh, it’s not at _you_. Okay?”

Bucky shrugs. “Good enough.” 

A few more seconds tick by in silence. Instead of saying anything at all, Bucky picks at something under his nails. Steve waits a little more. When Bucky _still_ doesn’t say anything, Steve throws his hands out. 

“Okay, well, I’m glad that’s cleared up.”

Lips twisted in a little glower -- one Steve hasn’t seen in a while and missed so much -- Bucky huffs and crosses his arms. 

“I’m sorry.” Steve laughs when Bucky tightens his expression. “I was just trying to lighten the mood. Whatever it is you wanna talk about, you can tell me.”

The whine that escapes Bucky’s lips is enough to also loosen his hard exterior. He sighs again and starts tracing his finger along Steve’s chest. 

“It’s just, um, what if I…” He hesitates and rubs at his forehead. “What if I don’t want you to _just_ be my… boyfriend.” 

The second he says the word, Bucky cringes and stares up at him. Eyes wide and brows pinched. Like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. When Steve does nothing more than smile -- he should probably respond to Bucky’s statements since he’s not really sure what he means, but he’s just too thrilled to hear him use the title -- Bucky opens his mouth a few times before getting something out.

“Is that _right_ , Steve?” he asks. Voice just above a timid whisper. “ _Are_ you my… boyfriend?”

First cupping Bucky’s cheeks, Steve pulls him in for a kiss. Must shock Bucky too since he sucks in a quick, sudden breath and takes a few heartbeats before smiling against Steve’s lips and kissing back. He tilts his head slightly. Brings Steve in even closer. After a few exchanges, Bucky opens his mouth and invites Steve’s tongue in. 

“Is that a yes?” Bucky breathes softly when they break away. Barely half an inch between them. Lips so close if either of them gave into temptation they’d be kissing again, and Steve’s really not sure how they made it so long resisting each other. 

“It’s a yes,” Steve answers. “Yes. _Oui._ _Bien Sûr._ ” And seeing the almost dazed look in Bucky’s eyes adds, “ _Mon petit ami_.”

Bucky’s eyes drift closed. He lets his head drop gently against Steve’s chest and takes hold of his waist. 

“ _Мой парень,_ ” Bucky murmurs. “Да.”

Holding Bucky close, Steve pets a hand over his hair. Kisses the top of his head. Twice. 

“Is that all you wanted to talk about?” Steve asks. “Whether or not we were boyfriends?”

Steve can feel the way Bucky tries not to stiffen in response to his question. He does glance up at him, though, lip tucked under his teeth. 

“Uh, ye-um.” Sighing, Bucky shakes his head. “No. That’s not… it’s, y’know, like…” He gets out a few more words that don’t come close to making a full sentence before whining and giving up. “Please just get it without me having to say it.” 

While Steve would _love_ to give him that, he’s a little bit of a loss here. Still, he nods and tugs at Bucky’s waist. Bucky gets the idea and lifts himself up onto the counter. Pulling out the closest chair, Steve spins it around to sit backward on it -- he’s close enough to Bucky that Bucky’s toes automatically perch on the sides. Steve traces circles over his knees.

“Can you give me a hint?” he asks. “I’ll try to get it that way.” 

Bucky takes in a deep breath and taps his toes against the back of the chair. 

“Uh, it’s… y’know, like.” He clears his throat. “How, um, when I use’ta come over and you’d… and then in class, I would… because you’d…”

That’s all he says on the matter. Bucky just stutters a few more incomplete statements and then just stares at Steve like he hopes he’s understood. 

“Um.” Steve closes his eyes. “Can you be a little more specific?” 

Bucky looks at him as though that’s the last thing he wants to do. Lip tucked between his teeth, he looks around the room like something in there will give him what he needs in order to get this out right. The kitchen regards him with sympathy, but, like Steve, is at a loss. Bucky sighs again.

“It’s just… oh, um, okay.” He holds a finger up like he’s just gotten an idea. A lightbulb going on over his head. “Like, sometimes, if I’m feelin’ real stressed out or somethin’, Nat will, uh…” Bucky curls his toes in and outs. “She’ll… sometimes tell me how to do something… or what to do or when to… or what to wear…”

His voice trails off and his face gets so red Steve swears he feels the heat coming from it. A little noise gets stuck in the back of Bucky’s throat as he buries his face in his hands. Like he’s completely mortified in what he’s just said. He’s mumbling something into his palms -- nevermind, Steve thinks he’s saying -- but Steve might actually be getting the idea. 

“Bucky,” Steve says, gently. Guides Bucky’s hands away from his face. “Are you talking about being my submissive?”

Bucky’s cheeks heat up again and he ducks his chin down. Steve even feels a tug at his hands like he wants to cover his face but doesn’t try all that hard to get his hands free from Steve’s. 

“I… I guess. I just… you remember the first time we met?”

As if Steve could ever forget.

“Yes.”

“Well, I said that night that you’d never done nothin’ like that before. The whole… y’know, dominating thing. But.” Bucky sighs. “I guess I was wrong about that.”

“I might know a few things about that sort of stuff,” Steve says, even though Bucky obviously knows that already. “And yes, before I met you, I’d taken classes and gone to workshops and munches, and been in relationships…” He trails when he notices the way Bucky’s face almost crinkles when he says that last part. “Does that bother you?”

“No,” he grumbles. Steve lifts an eyebrow, and Bucky sighs. “Okay, yes. It does. Or, no, it doesn’t _bother_ me bother me. It’s just, I guess I’m… jealous. Of those people who got to have you as their Dom. And I know that’s completely selfish of me and all, especially with everything you’re doin’ for me and you’re seriously the nicest, like, most selfless guy ever and here I am bein’ a total ass and gettin’ all jealous over people you dated in the past.”

Though he won’t say it out loud, Bucky being jealous of him in such a way is actually a little flattering. All these months of Steve being jealous of the people that Bucky’s gone to after him, and Bucky’s been jealous of _him_ in an entirely different way. A better way, in Steve’s opinion. Those people Steve’s been jealous of mean nothing to Bucky. Just impersonal business deals to earn him money before moving on with his life.

The people Bucky’s jealous of in Steve’s life _did_ mean something to Steve. Still do. They’re a beat in his heart. People who helped shape him in one way or another. Even if none of those relationships were ever long term, they were still meaningful. They still taught and guided Steve. 

“What?” Bucky asks after a few seconds of silence tick by. “Why’re you smilin’ like that?”

Oh. He’s right. Steve _is_ smiling. He shakes his head and stands up again, easing the chair to the side. Bucky watches him closely. Almost cautiously. As though he’s not sure what’s happening.

“So.” Steve leans his hands against the counter, one on either side of Bucky. “What you’re saying is that in addition to being my boyfriend, which we’ve already established you _are_ …” The idea alone makes Steve want to float away again. Bucky. His boyfriend. “You’d like to be my sub?”

Just like before, the very second the word falls from Steve’s mouth, Bucky is ducking his head down. Because Steve is so close to him now, the top of his head skims Steve’s chest, but he tenses and smothers his face and whimpers. Seems that after all the dirty talk and filthy language the kid is capable of, this one is the taboo word. 

Steve chuckles. “Hey, Buck, you don’t have to be embarrassed. But I need you to _tell_ me if that’s what you’re talking about. Out loud. I can’t just assume it.” 

Sighing with another quiet whimper, Bucky shakes his head. He’s got his hands clutched at the bottom of Steve’s shirt.

“Yes,” he whispers. “That’s what I mean. I… wanna be… y’know. I do. That. What you said.”

“My sub,” Steve repeats. Once again, Bucky shudders under Steve’s touch when he nods. “Baby,” he chuckles. “What’s wrong? This isn’t something we haven’t done a hundred times already.” 

“Yeah, but, that was… different.”

Since Bucky’s still got his face hidden, Steve can’t see what expression goes along with that tiny voice of his right now. But Steve really can’t imagine what’s running through his head. He’s got no clue how to put two and two together this time, and Bucky’s not really giving him much help. Even when Steve tries to get him to look back up at him, he’ll only go so far as a quick glimpse before ducking back down again. 

“Why?” Steve asks. “What made it different?”

“ _Because_.” Bucky huffs out a whine. “We weren’t, like, y’know _dating_ then. And _now_ we are and I want you to be my Dom. To boss me around and make decisions for me and take care of me and gimme rules to follow and really punish me if I don’t follow them. Real couples don’t do things like that, do they?”

“What?” Steve laughs and pulls away from him. “Why would you say that? I just told you, I’ve _had_ relationships like that before.” 

Now, Bucky takes a peek up at him. A little peer through his lashes as he brings his eyebrows in like he’s getting ready to drop some bombshell on Steve or something.

“But, Steve, I… I don’t think you… get it.” He sighs. Squeezes his eyes closed and bites down on his lip. “That’s kinky sex. I’m talkin’ about… not… _just_ sex. I--”

“Want a D/s relationship both in _and_ out of the bedroom,” Steve interrupts. “You don’t just want kinky sex, you want me as your Dom in our relationship.” 

The look on Bucky’s face is almost humorous. A wind blows gently against the window. Maybe a soft laugh since Steve can’t bring himself to do it. Bucky is looking at him as though he’s shocked. Shocked, maybe, that Steve’s not only figured out already what he’s talking about but isn’t freaked out by it. Isn’t running away from Bucky’s desires. 

“That’s right, isn’t it, baby?” Steve asks. “Is that what you’re looking for?”

“Y-yeah…” Bucky blinks a few times. “You’re just… cool with that?” He shakes his head. “I mean, I don’t even know _how_ to do it the right way and--”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Steve takes hold of Bucky’s shoulders and sits him up straight. “There _isn’t_ a right or a wrong way to have this sort of relationship. Or any relationship I guess, but with D/s, in particular, we make the relationship fit _us_ , not the other way around.”

Twisting his lips a bit, Bucky’s eyebrows stitch like he’s confused by something Steve’s said. 

“But, I read this stuff online and it’s like if you don’t do it in certain ways then you’re just faking and you’re not really doing it right or something.”

Sympathy pumps through Steve as Bucky stumbles over a few more nervous statements about what he’s read on the internet. He can remember when he first began his research on the same things. Like Bucky, Steve also came across articles and even chatted with people who believed there was actually only one right way to have such a relationship. 

“There’s only one way to do this the right way, Bucky,” Steve murmurs. “And that’s if we both consent to everything. That’s all we need. Everyone else can kiss our asses.” 

The morning, easing now into an afternoon of clear skies and yellow sunshine, slips around them like satin. Blows a few kisses of springtime winds against the window. 

In front of Steve, Bucky still looks nervous and unsure. Thoughts and ideas and uncertainties growing and disappearing within his beautiful sea-steel eyes.

“What is it, baby?” Steve asks. “Is this too much? Too soon? We don’t have to talk about all of this today. We can save some of this for another time.”

Bucky shakes his head. “No. It’s just…” Those nerves swim through his eyes again. “You’re sure _you’re_ okay with this? With _all_ of this? This is… a lot. Being with me and now _this_?”

Nodding, Steve presses a kiss to Bucky’s brow and slips his hands over Bucky’s wrists. He brings them together so he can kiss the top of Bucky’s hands and then holds them to his chest. 

“I want _you_ , Bucky. All of you. And to be honest I, well, I kinda figured that’s where we’d be headed anyway.” Steve smiles and touches his forehead to Bucky’s. “It felt natural with you. Right. I thought, if this ever happened--” He closes his eyes and almost wants to pinch himself just to make sure he’s not dreaming. To be sure that this _is_ really happening and he’s really here with Bucky Barnes discussing their romantic relationship. “I thought we’d just let things progress. Let the pieces fall in place.”

Bucky breathes in deeply and, without letting their brows part, he ghosts his lips against Steve’s. 

“So, um.” Bucky chews the inside of his chew. “Do we make a contract or something? Am I supposed to call you _sir_ all the time now?”

Steve cups Bucky’s cheeks. “Baby, no. We do whatever we want. If you wanna make a contract for the fun of it, we can do that. If you wanna call me ‘sir’ when we’re alone, I guess that’s fine, but I like it when you use my name outside of scenes and playing and maybe other certain scenarios. But just like I said, this is all up to what _we_ want to do.” 

Another blush burns through Bucky’s face. His mouth opens like he wants to say the thoughts that’re running through his mind but none of them make it out. Instead, he smothers his face between Steve’s neck and shoulder. Breathes in deeply and exhales softly. Like whatever comfort he finds in this position makes him feel safe and cherished, and if that’s the case, Steve will let him stay there as long as he wants. He even rests a hand on the back of his head.

“I’m such a dumbass,” Bucky mutters. “Why would you even _want_ to do this with me. I don’t know anything.”

“Mm.” Steve kisses the top of his head. “You’re far from a dumbass. Just don’t worry so much about doing it _right_ and just let us be… y’know, _us_. And I’ll help you with the things you don’t know. Is there anyone else you can talk to maybe? Anyone else who’s ever been in a D/s relationship?”

Bucky pulls upright so quickly Steve he not only almost knocks his head into Steve’s chin, but also nearly tumbles off the counter. His eyes are so wide they look like they might fall out and his jaw is dropped open like Steve’s just asked the most outrageous question ever. 

“No!” he exclaims. “I… How would I even… What’m I gonna do? Just _ask_?”

Steve snickers and shrugs. “No, but, you said that Natasha sometimes…”

“No, no.” Bucky quickly shakes his head. “That’s different. She just… she… _gets_ me.”

While Steve’s not totally convinced that’s completely true, he doesn’t exactly have much proof otherwise. It’s not like he can put a label on the two of them. Hell, he never even needed one for him and Bucky, but the labels seem to make Bucky feel better. Give him something to grasp onto when he’s not exactly sure about everything yet. A safety blanket of sorts.

“Okay. That’s okay.” Steve wonders how much would be too much in this department. “Y’know, when I was in California, I went to munches and that’s how I met people. I’ve been way too busy to look any up around here since I got back, but maybe-what?”

Confusion swims through Bucky’s eyes. Something Steve’s said hasn’t clicked. 

“What’s… what’s a munch?” 

Heart falling to his feet, Steve is so taken back by the fact that Bucky doesn’t know something like that that he feels a little sick. All this time, Bucky’s been having some _very_ kinky sex with his clients. Rough. Sometimes very rough. And Steve knows that he didn’t always enforce his own limits. He had no idea that Bucky had such little knowledge in this. There’re so many ways he could’ve gotten hurt. So many people who could have used Bucky’s submissive side to their advantage. Brock being on the lighter side of things. 

“You don’t know what a munch is?” Bucky shakes his head. “It’s… like a meeting or just a hang out with people who are into the same things we are. So we can meet each other and make friends. Stuff like that.” 

Bucky watches him with awed, glittering eyes. Steve’s not sure if Bucky’s ever looked at him like this before. He’s just so… _enthralled_ by what Steve’s saying. Captivated. As though he’s seeing Steve for the first time. Or seeing a new Steve. Someone who’s stepped out of a shell that’s cracking right in front of his eyes. 

“You… you just… _did_ that, Steve?” he asks. Voice so tiny and timid. “You weren’t embarrassed?” 

This is the kid who Steve paid to have sex with the first night they met. The kid who lured Steve in with thrusting hips and enticing eyes flashing in a dark bar and luscious, sinful lips. Yet here he is now. Blushing and bashful and completely intimidated by the idea of someone going to a munch. 

“Sure. A lot actually, but, really--” A chuckle rumbles through Steve’s chest. “To tell you the truth, going there was actually one of the things that _wasn’t_ scary for me. I was scared, yeah, but a good scared.”

“Oh.” Bucky fiddles with his fingers. Even bites his nails. “I don’t… know if I could ever…”

“It’s okay,” Steve assures him. “We don’t have to go. I was just saying…” He clears his throat. “You said you’ve looked some stuff up?”

Bucky goes on to tell Steve that his searches mostly consisted on the sex side of things and less on the relationship end. He looked up information about sex toys and various kinks. While he didn’t enforce them, Bucky read about limits and safewords and aftercare. It was a customer, he tells Steve, who first got his mind thinking about such things. The very same woman who uses him as a table which, upon mentioning her, makes Steve instantly jealous. Ridiculous, he knows. 

What matters most is that her interactions with Bucky are what got him to research anything at all. They’re what made him realize the things he was craving, the desires burning inside of him and making his body tingle, were perfectly natural. That plenty of other people felt them, too. It gave him a chance to put words to it all, even if he wasn’t quite sure how to sate the thirst within him. 

Other than a few small doses here and there from some customers, before Steve, Bucky was only able to work on what he found on the internet. Stories. Porn. Something called Yaoi. 

“So then.” Bucky scooches to the edge of the counter he’s been sitting on. “What, uh, what now?” 

There’s a part of Steve that wonders where that confident, almost arrogant, kid he met by chance one night at a bar went. Still, this shy, intimidated version of him is most intriguing. 

This side of Bucky is just so charming -- so _endearing_ \-- that Steve would scoop him up and carry him around in his pocket if he could. It’s strange, really. While Steve’s always felt this protectiveness towards Bucky, it almost feels as though it’s his driving force now. Some urgent need inside of him that _must_ keep Bucky as safe as possible. Maybe it’s been there along and Steve’s only paying full attention to it now. Maybe it’s because Bucky’s specifically asked for Steve to be his Dom. Either way, it’s there, and Steve will protect and guide and help Bucky in any way he can. 

“What now…” Steve muses. “Now, I think…” He cups Bucky’s cheeks. Leans in. Slow and almost teasing until their lips meet. “Now, I think we just be us. Us just… _more_.” 

More. The word that’s been tiptoeing around them all this time and now shines through them like the rising sun. It warms Steve to the very core, especially when Bucky fights back that smile of his. That cute, shy smile that Steve’s grown so fond of. 

“Us,” Bucky repeats, the word slipping from his lips like a freshly fallen snowflake. “I can do that.”

Steve holds his breath for a second. The air in the kitchen, he thinks, freezes along with him. He’s been assuring Bucky all day that they can do this. That everything will be okay. Now it’s Steve’s job to steer them in that direction and get them on that road. 

“Yes. You can.” Steve moves close enough just to start crowding Bucky’s space. Bucky straightens up, eyes growing as Steve comes closer. “I know you can. Because you’re a good boy.” He fits his hand to Bucky’s cheek. “Aren’t you, Bucky?”

A soft sound gets stuck in Bucky’s throat. He peers up at Steve with smokey eyes. Dazed already. His mouth goes to form a word but not a sound comes out. Just a breath. Same as the kitchen starting to breathe around them again. 

When Bucky goes on just staring, Steve slips his hand from Bucky’s cheek to under his chin. 

“Isn’t that right, sweet boy?” he asks. “You’re a good boy?”

“Yes,” Bucky breathes. Swallows hard and keeps going. “Yes, sir. I’m a good boy.” 

He shivers under Steve’s touch when he says it. That shiver slips into Steve as well. The first time those words have been said with this meaning in such a long time. They circle around them and sink deep into Steve’s bones. 

“That’s right.” Steve inches forward, tilting Bucky’s chin up. “ _My_ good boy. And I’m going to take care of you. Because you’re _mine_ and I take care of what’s mine.”

Bucky’s eyes have dropped to Steve’s lips. He licks his own and moves in for a kiss. Steve doesn’t let him get it. 

“Not yet,” Steve murmurs, and when Bucky whimpers, Steve wags a finger at him. “Mm-mm. You can wait.” Steve doesn’t know if _he_ can, but he’s sure as hell gonna try. “I know what you need. And I know you need to wait.” 

Folding his lips in, Bucky peers up at Steve through long lashes. His lips part as though he means to speak but Steve presses two fingers against them to lock in any words that might come out. 

“Mmm.” Steve leans in to whisper in Bucky’s ear. “I love you like this. Listening to me. You like it, don’t you? Me deciding for you. Telling you what you need and don’t need.”

Bucky’s hands are bunched in Steve’s shirt, arms shaking as though he’s resisting the urge to pull Steve closer.

“Please…” Bucky whimpers. “Please, kiss me, Steve. Sir. _Please_.”

“Yeah?” Steve ghosts his lips to Bucky’s. “You want a kiss?”

“Yes,” he breathes. Nods almost frantically. “Please. Yes, yes. _Yes_. Pl--”

Steve pulls him in then. Slams their lips together and revels in the sinful noises the Bucky makes the second he does. Bucky tastes so good. So, so good. He kisses back as though he just can’t get enough. Open mouthed and tongues swirling, he even hooks a leg around Steve’s waist. Which makes it all the easier to hoist him off the counter.

Bucky giggles into the kiss as he’s lifted into Steve’s arms and has to toss his other leg around him to keep from slipping before Steve grabs hold of his ass to keep him in place. Fingers weave through Steve’s hair and tug him closer. In this position, they can’t keep kissing for long. Within a minute or so, Steve has to lower Bucky back to his feet, and when he does, Bucky pulls away just enough to grin up at him for a second before burying his face right below Steve’s shoulder. Grinning, Steve gently places his hands over Bucky’s shoulders, fingers kneading into the back of his neck. 

“Steve?”

“Yes, baby?”

He rubs his face against Steve a little. Whispers, “Hold me? Please?”

The please is barely out of his mouth and Steve is wrapping his arms around Bucky, one hand cradling the back of his head. This might actually be the first time he’s asked to be held. After all their nights together, all the emotion and confessions, it’s now that Bucky’s requesting it. Here. In Steve’s kitchen. As a couple. 

With Bucky pressed against him like this, Steve rests his head over his hair. They stand like that for a few minutes. The afternoon nestles around them, sunbeams poking in to enjoy the comfort that they share. 

“Steve?”

Steve smiles. “Yeah?”

His arms squeeze around Steve’s body. Bucky nuzzles into him a little more and hums. 

“I…” He sighs. “I love you.” 

Those three words sing through Steve’s heart. A sweet, soft melody that brings tears to his eyes with its beauty. Bucky doesn’t run this time either. He stays after he says it. Steve is sure that inside Bucky might not be as cool as he appears. In fact, Bucky even sucks in a jagged breath. Steve hasn’t responded yet. It’s only been a few seconds, but even that short amount of time is enough to make him doubt whether or not Steve is going to break him. 

Taking just one arm away from their embrace -- and having Bucky tighten around him in response -- Steve lifts his chin to look deep into his eyes. 

“I love you, too, Bucky.” Steve presses his lips to Bucky’s brow. “My sweet boy.” 

Sparkles glisten in Bucky’s eyes. He smiles hugely at Steve before grabbing hold of Steve’s shirt and pulling him in for another kiss. 

“Will you meet my family?” he asks, the question bursting excitedly from his mouth before his face falls with the shock of saying them out loud. “I mean… not now. Not… ever if you don’t wanna. Just, one day? I just… thought.” Bucky shakes his head and holds on tighter to Steve’s shirt. “You’re the only one I’ve ever told them about. I mean, not, like, _that_ stuff, not... And you’re the only one I’ve ever wanted them to meet. Well, except…” He shakes his head again. “But I don’t wanna think about him. Um. I’ve got a cat, too. Mr. Butters. He’s a hundred years old, but the sweetest thing in the world.”

He falls silent and stares at Steve like he can’t believe he’s just said all of that. He might even go to apologize but all that comes out in an embarrassed laugh, his cheeks turning red. 

“Mr. Butters, huh?” Steve chuckles. “Who named the cat?”

Bucky scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Okay, I was _three_ and he’s got _orange_ fur.”

“Butter’s not orange.”

“Well my _cat_ is,” he grumbles. “And _his_ name is Mr. Butters.” 

“Ah.” He smiles and kisses Bucky’s nose. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

The thought of meeting the cat is a lot less intimidating than meeting the rest of his family. At least there’ll be no judgment. Then again, it’s a cat. Still, the cat’s not Bucky’s mother. Not Bucky’s sister. The two people who mean the world to him and, for whatever reason, might hate Steve. Disapprove. Reject the very idea of Bucky being anywhere near the man who paid to have sex with him for months at a time. 

There’s some other emotion sliding in next to the anxiety of eventually meeting Bucky’s family. A painful, squeezing sensation that wraps around his windpipe and pushes down on his chest. 

Steve doesn’t have anyone to introduce Bucky to. No one to take him home for dinner. His friends, yes. They’ve met him once, but not as his boyfriend. That’ll be something. But there’s something else missing. That spot inside of Steve that’ll never be filled. 

Unless.

“Y’know, I have someone I want to introduce you to,” he murmurs. Takes Bucky by the wrist to lead him out of the kitchen. “This way.”

“What?” Bucky plants his heels and tries to keep from going any farther. “ _Now_? Are you crazy? I… I can’t… _no_ …” he whimpers. Gives Steve this horrified look which only makes him chuckle. “S’not funny!”

“It’s a little funny.” Steve pinches his fingers together to show just how funny it is. Bucky rolls his eyes. “Why not now?”

Bucky huffs. “I’m not even _dressed_! I… I can’t!”

Steve plants a hand right over Bucky’s hand and tousles his hair only to get an adorable, deathly sort of glare in return. 

“You look adorable. I promise it’ll be fine. C’mon.” 

“But--”

“C’mon.” 

He gives Bucky a tug then just strong enough to get him going. Behind Steve, Bucky lets out another little whimper, this one mixed with a groan, like he’s trusting Steve here but is really skirting the line right about now. A tightrope Steve’s leading him across with no safety net beneath them. 

When they cross by the living room and don’t go through it for the door, instead going down the hall and toward the bedroom again, Steve can _feel_ the curiosity in Bucky growing. The hand in his tightens. Steve glances back. Finds two eyebrows stitched together. Pursed lips. Bucky watching him intently. The whole look makes Steve hiss a chuckle through his teeth. 

As soon as they’re in the bedroom, Bucky look around -- his expression shifting between being sure there’d be no one there and wondering if someone had come in unnoticed. Maybe while he was showering. Steve can literally see the relief settle through him. He lets out a heavy breath and gives Steve _I-told-you-so-_ eyes even though Bucky never said anything about anyone not actually being in there. 

“So…?” Bucky taps his foot. He even holds his hand out. “Is this where you invisible friend is, narc? Or are you so uncool that even your imaginary friends think you’re a dork?”

He says it all with that patent sly grin of his, but Steve can see a bit of tension at the corners of Bucky’s lips. Bucky’s been holding onto his smartass comments for some time now -- only letting a tiny one out here and there -- and this is him testing waters. It has to be. 

_We just be us_ , Steve had said. 

This is Bucky doing just that. Him being him. Waiting to see if Steve will still be Steve in return. 

“Mm.” Steve licks his lips and inhales deeply through his nose. “Really?”

The slight steel Steve puts into his voice is just enough to get Bucky to fold his lips and peer up at him with that sweet, innocent expression of his. 

“Don’t you give me that look, sweet boy,” Steve says as he slips a finger under Bucky’s chin. “I heard you.” 

Bucky opens his mouth to answer, but before he can say anything, Steve grabs his wrist quick enough that his eyes go wide with shock. Steve pulls him in close while turning him just enough that Bucky’s chest is pushed against the same arm holding onto his wrist. 

Everything happens so fast that Bucky’s clearly not expecting the three swift and hard slaps to his ass that make him yelp, jerk, and laugh all at the same time. 

“Steve!” he squeaks. Rubs at his backside when Steve lets go. “Ouch.”

“Aw,” Steve teases. “Did that hurt?” Hand still at his butt, Bucky pouts and nods. Steve leans in close to say, “It was _supposed_ to,” and pecks a kiss to his nose. 

Bucky giggles and grin and presses himself against him. If Steve let it happen, he’d lose himself in just holding Bucky again. But he wants to do this. Now. If he doesn’t, he’s not sure he ever really will. 

“C’mere,” he whispers, and moves around Bucky to hug him from behind. Steve inches them towards his dresser. Picks up the picture there and hands it to Bucky. “Bucky,” he says, softly. “This is my mom. Mama, this is Bucky.” 

There’s a quiet gasp as Bucky goes on looking at the picture. The same one that he picked up the one time they went into Steve’s storage unit. Of him and his mama -- her arms around him, beautiful smile on her face while his tongue is pressed between a goofy grin of his own. At his last birthday she shared with him. 

The last time Bucky held it, looked at it, asked about it, Steve had practically bit his head off. He just still couldn’t bear the thought of having her presence and not having _her_. It’s still… hard. Sometimes he can’t look at the pictures he’s starting to put up. Pictures he’s quite sure Bucky hasn’t noticed until now. 

Bucky holds the frame tightly. Both hands. It even trembles slightly in his careful grip. Steve watches through the mirror over his dresser. 

They’re both very still. Very quiet. Bucky must understand how important this is. What it means. How much it takes for Steve to do this at all. 

After at least a solid minute of stillness and silence, Bucky breathes out gently and runs his fingers over the glass. Over a few different spots. Around Mama’s face. Under Steve’s chin. Around them both. 

“You have her eyes.”

He whispers it. Says it so softly as though he’s worried about shattering this fragile moment. 

Steve nods. “I know.” 

The crack in his voice splinters all the way down his throat. Tears fill his eyes so quickly he has no time to prepare for them. They fall over before he can even think to try to hold them back. 

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Not with this sudden ache ripping through him. It hurts not to hear Mama’s voice greet Bucky. Knowing she’ll never welcome him in his childhood home. Never have him over for Thanksgiving dinner. Never tell him to get home safe.

Bucky’s carefully setting the picture back down on the dresser and turning around. There’s a pit forming in Steve’s stomach. Tighter than the one already there. Because he’s already sure of what Bucky’s going to say. He’s going to try to tell him that it’s okay and then Steve has to nod and try to agree. But it’s not. It’s not okay. None of this is okay. It’s not fair. It’s not fair that his mother is dead. It’s not fair that Bucky’s father is dead. It’s just not fair and Steve doesn’t want to pretend like it is. 

When Bucky’s thumbs gently wipe the tears away from Steve’s cheeks, Steve just cries harder.

“Steve,” Bucky whispers, and Steve closes his eyes as he tries to prepare for those dreaded words. “What would she say, Steve?” Steve’s eyes pop open with the shock of a question he never expected. “If your mama was here? What would she say?”

For a second he just stares at Bucky -- his boyfriend, his sub, the person he’s grown closest to over the past few months -- and doesn’t understand. He shakes his head, trying to make sense of the question and the fact that he hasn’t said what Steve thought he would. 

Bucky doesn’t want to give him any false sense of comfort. He’s not interested in sharing words that mean well but don’t provide actual relief from very real grief. Instead, Bucky wants to know what it would be like if Mama was still here. If he can’t know her, he’ll take the next best thing. 

A wave of gratitude washes over Steve. A warm, honeyed sensation that just glazes across him.

Through more tears, Steve says, “She would’ve said: ‘Bucky.’ And then she’d say your name again because she thought saying names twice helped her to remember them.” Steve grins at the memory. “She’d say: ‘It’s so lovely to finally meet you. Steve’s told me so much about you.’ Cause I would have.” Steve cups Bucky’s cheek when he smiles. “I’d’ve gushed about you to her all the time, baby. Then she’d take you by the hand and bring you to the couch and ask you to tell her your life story. And even though you only met her a few minutes ago you would.” Steve chuckles as he wipes his face. “Because she’d make you feel so comfortable. She made everyone feel comfortable. And she’d probably ask you about anything _I’d_ done that you didn’t like so that she could yell at me for you.” 

“I wouldn’t have _too_ much to tell her,” Bucky replies. Lifts up on his toes and kisses the last of Steve’s tears away. “Mostly, I think I’d wanna thank her.”

“Thank her?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah. For you. For raising such a great guy.” He moves in and wraps his arms around Steve’s neck. “I wish I could meet her for real, Steve.”

Burying his face between Bucky’s shoulder and neck, Steve nods and takes in a deep, ragged breath. 

“Me too.” Steve kisses Bucky’s neck without lifting away from their embrace. “I wish I could meet your dad.”

To that, Bucky doesn’t reply. He gets very quiet and goes still for a few seconds until he gives Steve a tighter hug. 

“I love you, Steve,” he whispers a few moments later. “I do. I really, really do.” 

Steve sniffles one last time before pulling away and giving Bucky a bit of a weepy smile. One Bucky returns. There’re even a few small tears in his eyes as well. 

“I love you, too, Bucky,” he says. “I’m sorry about that.” He rubs his fingers into his eyes. “I thought I could that without being a whole mess, but…”

“Hey, no.” Bucky shakes his head and pokes Steve’s chest. “If you don’t let _me_ say sorry about being sad then _you_ don’t get to say sorry for being sad. Especially about things that’re sad.”

Holding back both a smile and another round of tears, Steve nods and gently bumps his brow with Bucky’s.

“Okay,” he whispers.

Bucky sighs dramatically and smirks. “And _you’re_ supposed to be the Dom here.”

A laugh bursts from Steve and he can’t help the few tears that roll down his cheeks. They’re not completely out of sadness this time. Just so much emotion at once. 

“You’re such a little brat,” he teases as he rocks Bucky by the hips. “You know that?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “You still like me like that though.”

“Yes.” Steve nods. Kisses the tip of Bucky’s nose. “I do. Gimme a sec, okay? I’m gonna go…” He points to the door with his thumb. “To the bathroom and… I’ll be right back.”

Bucky’s still smiling as Steve leaves the room. He’s not gone for very long. Just enough to blow his nose a few times in a couple of tissues and splash some cold water on his face to freshen up a bit, but by the time he’s on the way back, Steve hears Bucky’s quiet voice coming from his bedroom. 

At first, he thinks he might be on his phone. Then Steve remembers that Bucky’s phone is still in the living room and he definitely didn’t go by the bathroom to get it. He slows down. Steve peeks into to the room and then quickly backs away again. Bucky’s holding the picture again. He’s speaking to Sarah. The only way he can. 

Steve knows he shouldn’t listen to these private words. They’re meant for his mama, a prayer for her and her alone. But he’s just so touched that he can’t bring himself to even move for a few seconds. And what he hears makes his heart skip a beat. 

"I'm sorry you didn't get to see him grow into a man,” Bucky’s saying very softly. “But you did such a good job that he's the most incredible man I've ever met. I don't think that means much coming from someone like me.” Ice pierces Steve’s chest when he says that. “Steve says you'd like me, but… I dunno.” _She would, Bucky_ , Steve wants to assure him. _She would_. “But I do know that I'm gonna try _so_ hard to be the person Steve thinks I am. To really deserve him. So that you can be happy we're together. You should be so proud of him." 

A smile curves up on Steve’s mouth. He’s had a few people say that Sarah would be proud of him. People that knew her, even Sam’s mom, her best friend. There’s something kind and sweet about hearing it come from Bucky. Someone who never met her. Who can only assume such a thing. 

Steve’s about to enter the room when he hears Bucky say, "Oh, and, I'm not sure if Pop is really interested in listening to me, not after all the trouble I caused, but... maybe… m-maybe you can tell him that I'm tryin' real hard to make things right again.” His voice cracks just a little and Steve would give anything to patch this old wound of his. This wound that has left such a deep scar across his soul. “I think he'll listen to you. If you can't find him he's probably watching the old school Dodgers play a game."

Steve can’t take listening to anymore. It’s not for him to listen to anyway. This is a thought-to-be-private moment and his an intruder. Rudely listening in and turning something beautiful into something sour. 

He takes a few steps back and then clears his throat so that Bucky has a few seconds to know that he’s coming. 

“So,” Steve says as he officially steps back into the room, and if didn’t know any better, he’d’ve never known Bucky had picked up the picture again at all, “I was thinking…”

Bucky grins and folds his arms over his chest. Cocks his hip to one side and tilts his head like he’s extremely interested in whatever it is Steve is about to say. And since he’s wearing Steve’s clothes that’re too big on him, he’s a model in adorable. 

It’s hard to remember that Steve was just intruding on something Bucky hadn’t intended on sharing with him.

“What?” Bucky asks. “What were you thinking?”

“Uh.” Steve takes him in for a second and smiles. “Maybe I could introduce you to Sam’s mom.”

Bucky’s arms fall. 

“Sam’s mom?”

“Yeah. She took me in after my mom died. Well, just… for a few months. I left town not long after my eighteenth birthday.” 

Steve scratches at the back of his neck, an old feeling of guilt reigniting hard and strong within him. 

Darlene had taken him into her home. Treated him like family. When Sam left for the air force and the rest of his friends had taken off for college, Steve felt too alone, too lost to stay behind. Even with Darlene asking him to stay. Even though she’d even offered to co-sign loans for him since he’d gotten into several of his colleges he’d applied to earlier in the year and Steve had a place to stay and he’d be fed homemade cookies until he burst, he still left. 

Sure, he kept in touch -- weekly lest Darlene call the cops in a panic which he found out the hard way and then spent one hour on the receiving end of a lecture and another apologizing -- and he came back for Christmases and other occasions, but he knew then, just as he does now that she promised his dying mother she'd take care of him. And she tried as hard as she could to live up to that promise. 

“Steve?”

Bucky’s soft voice breaks through Steve's culpable thoughts. He smiles at him. 

“She was my mom's best friend,” he murmurs. “I think she'll want to meet you.” 

“Well then.” Bucky tugs at the end of Steve's shirt. “I can't wait to meet her.”

Though he says it with confidence, Steve can see the slight tremble that runs through him. Like the thought of meeting Sam’s mom is intimidating. It should be, really. Darlene might not be his mama but she swore to Sarah she'd look out for Steve, and him being twenty-eight doesn't suddenly drive the protective mother hen in her out.

“Okay,” Steve announces. “I think we’ve had enough of the heavy for a little bit, don't you?”

Bucky heaves in a deep breath and lets it out with a huff.

“Yes, please.” He nods. “I just wanna go back to makin’ fun of you already.”

Barking a laugh, Steve swings an arm around Bucky’s shoulders and leads them out of the bedroom. 

“Is that so?”

“Mhm. You just make it so easy, grandpa.”

Steve snorts as he pulls Bucky onto the couch with him. He settles himself in one corner while Bucky folds his legs under him with that sly grin of his on his face. 

“Just wait,” Steve warns. “When I break my hip in the bedroom because you were begging for me to fuck you harder _you_ can explain it.”

Whether Bucky turns bright red or bursts out laughing first, Steve's not sure. All he knows is the kid is doubled over for more than five minutes straight trying to get a hold of himself. Any time after that, if he starts to calm down, a mere _glance_ in Steve's direction is all it takes to have him starting up again. 

“You about done?” Steve asks when Bucky’s able to stifle himself for a few minutes. “Or do you still need some more time?”

“Shut up,” Bucky chuckles. “You’re the one who _said_ it. Freakin’ dirty for an old grandpa narc.”

“Yeah.” Steve nods in agreement. “But I think you sorta like me that way.” 

Bucky snickers and nudges him with his elbow. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” 

They fall into an easy sense of comfort after that. Side by side on the couch as they watch afternoon television instead of being in their individual classes for the day. When Steve hears Bucky’s belly rumbling -- a very loud sound that they both turn to look at -- he laughs and offers to order pizza. 

Bucky demands to have a gourmet lunch prepared for him to which he just gets narrowed eyes and quirked lips from his newly established boyfriend. Pizza it is. Olives and peppers and extra cheese. 

It’s just around this time, while they’re waiting for their food to arrive, that Bucky’s phone starts to come to life. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who’s trying to get in touch with him and why. Especially when Bucky’s face pales and he just stares at the screen like he’s afraid to take his eyes away from it and look back at Steve. 

Well, Steve thinks, that didn’t take long. 

“It’s okay,” Steve tells him. “Do what you have to do.” 

Bucky’s still staring at his phone. “M’not… goin’ nowhere. Just…” He peeks over at Steve now. “It’s okay if I answer?”

Hand on Bucky’s knee, Steve leans over and presses a kiss to Bucky’s temple. This is part of who they are now. It might take a bit of getting used to, but if they’re gonna make this work -- and Steve is _determined_ to prove to Bucky that they can -- it starts with little steps like this.

“Yes,” Steve whispers. “It’s okay. You’re not losing any money, right?”

A nervous, crooked grin touches Bucky’s face. He shrugs, starts to look over at Steve and decides against it.

“Well, I mean, _yeah_ ,” he answers. “Any customer I don’t _take_ is me losin’ money. But it’s not like I’m _canceling_ on anyone.”

“Oh.” 

Sure, that makes sense. For every customer or potential customer that Bucky doesn’t go to, that’s a pocket full of money he loses. As much as Steve wants him to stay, he doesn’t want Bucky to feel _guilty_ for leaving. They’re going to have to find some… middle ground of some sort. 

“Sweetheart, you can… you can go if you want,” Steve says. “I don’t want you to lose out on--”

Bucky is shaking his head before Steve can even finish. Sitting upright and finally looking straight at Steve again.

“No. No, Steve, I don’t _wanna_ leave.”

“Not because of me though, right?” Steve asks. “You don’t think I’m gonna be mad and change my--”

And that’s a yes. By the way Bucky drops his eyes and his hand curls in a tight fist, it’s most definitely a yes.

“Okay,” Steve says. “Um… okay.” 

There was probably no avoiding this. Of course, there was no avoiding this. Steve can’t even fully predict how he’s gonna feel the first time Bucky leaves from and then comes back from being with a customer. First things first though. 

“Bucky, baby, if you need the money, then go. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here when you get back. Same as when you left after a night with me.”

Watching him carefully for a few seconds, Bucky shakes his head with a sigh. 

“No, it’s not… it’s not that. Or, well, not _just_ that.” He peers up at Steve through his lashes. “I don’t… _wanna_ leave. I always had to leave, Steve, when time was up. I know I didn’t have’ta cause you’re _you_ and you offered to let me stay, but I was…” Trying to keep that line drawn between them. Yes, Steve knows. “And now I… I can. I can stay cause… cause there _is_ no time limit. So, y’know, I wanna. But…” He lifts up his phone. “This is just…”

This is just all so new. For the both of them. Steve knows. He knows and he understands and he’s willing to work just as hard as Bucky is. Steve taps Bucky’s hand and once again tells him to take as much time as he needs to answer his customers. Bucky goes on to explain that it’s usually this time of day that he gets a round of texts. Another round might come in either around happy hour and or the later college drinking hours. 

He doesn’t pay his phone much attention, even if he does pick it up and shoot back a quick answer to every text he gets. There aren’t really that many. Maybe about a half a dozen, and Bucky says he hasn’t taken a customer since Wednesday so obviously _everyone’s missing my fine piece of ass_.

Steve tries to scoff and roll his eyes, but instead, he shrugs and ruffles Bucky’s hair.

“My gain,” he says. Wraps Bucky up in his arms and smothers the side of his neck with kisses enough that it makes Bucky giggle. “I like having you all to myself. Even if I have to share you sometimes. As long as you come back to me.”

Tightening his grip around Steve’s arms, Bucky takes a glimpse over his shoulder with an anxious grin.

“Keep wantin’ me back, Steve,” Bucky says. “Okay?” 

“Always,” Steve whispers, and kisses the back of his head.

By the time the pizza comes, Bucky sets the phone down so they can enjoy lunch together. It’s pretty much stopped going off then anyway. They head into the kitchen together and end up eating nearly the whole pie while laughing and chatting. Not once does Bucky even look at his phone, even the few times it buzzes. 

Eventually they make their way back to the living room, plopping on the couch where Steve scoots to the corner and Bucky sits with his legs crisscrossed. For some reason though, he doesn’t get any closer than letting their knees touch. 

The television is on, and Steve’s left an old 80s movie on it, but neither of them are particularly watching it. They’re talking more than watching. About this and that, with Bucky’s teasing and Steve poking back. There’s a bit more talk about the unique roles to their relationship. They get into a little more detail about what that means. About Steve’s experience and what he’s looking for. About what Bucky’s little bit of research taught him and his admission that maybe making a contract might be fun. Steve laughs and promises they’d do that. They discuss their roles and potential rules. 

“Gimme time, Bucky _,_ ”Steve tells him.“You’ll get some.”

“And if I…” Bucky fiddles with his fingers. “Mess up?”

Ah, that. Bucky’s not talking about silly little things here. Not playful slaps on the hand because he’s sticking it in the cheese bowl after Steve’s told him over and over to stop eating the cheese. Not breaking rules that Steve’s set up during scenes specifically put in place _for_ that very purpose. For the fun of it. 

He’s talking about more important things. Real rules. Real punishment. 

“We talk first,” Steve tells him. “About whatever it is that happened. And then we go on from there. See if we need more than that. Definitely not something you’d like though. Maybe I’ll have you kneel or stand in the corner or sit at the table inside by yourself.”

Bucky’s face falls, a pretty good indication that the thought alone has him dreading such an idea. At least Steve can say he knows him that well. Still, the look on Bucky’s face makes Steve chuckle a little.

“Why do you look so worried?” he asks. “Are you planning on breaking many rules?” 

“Well, no but…” Bucky shakes his head and pouts. “I don’t want that.”

This time, Steve lets go of that laugh, even shaking with it. This kid is too adorable for his own good. 

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” Steve says.

Bucky huffs and the conversation goes on. The more they talk about it, the more comfortable and open Bucky starts to get. He’s no longer turning bright red every time the word _sub_ comes up and even when he’s hesitant and won’t look in Steve’s eyes, he starts to ask questions.

After a little more time Bucky starts getting a little overzealous. Forgetting to be nervous at all and diving into question after question. 

“What about floggers? Have you ever used one of those? Would you use one on me? Or a whip? I dunno if I’d like that. What’s that thing called when you play with ice and wax and feathers and stuff? Sensation play?”

As Bucky continues to ramble his excitement, Steve runs over the list he has memorized of Bucky’s limits. Most of the things he’s mentioning are listed as a yes or maybe, but Steve also takes note of this new rush in Bucky. 

“Hey.” He places a hand on his shoulder. “Slow down. Let’s just take things one at a time, okay?”

Bucky looks a little disgruntled like he’s suddenly interested in soaking in every little drop of kink he possibly can, but doesn’t put up any argument. 

It does happen sometimes. A sub gets so wrapped up in the new and exciting rush that it’s all they can think about. Sometimes, that leads to mistakes. Mistakes that, on the lighter side are embarrassing. On the darker side, they can be deadly. As Bucky’s Dom -- a thought that makes Steve’s belly tickle -- it’s his job see to it that that doesn’t happen.

“I know you’re getting excited,” Steve says. “But did you ever hear of sub frenzy?”

Lips twisting, Bucky fiddles with his finger and tugs on his ear. He inhales and then gives Steve something of an apologetic look, though Steve hardly expects an apology.

“Yeah,” Bucky admits. “That one I know. Sorry. Is that what I just--”

“You don’t have to apologize. But there’s no rush. And yes.” Steve grins. “I know how to use a flogger.” He wobbles his hand. “Not really into the whole bullwhip thing and, yes, that all can be part of sensation and temperature play.” 

Nodding, Bucky goes quiet for a for a few seconds until his eyes sweep back up to Steve, and Steve can see another question in them. He’s clearly trying to keep it from rattling around, but can’t help that it’s getting larger and larger. Whatever it is on his mind, though, Bucky’s intent on not asking without Steve’s permission. He _wants_ to ask it, Steve can tell that much by the way he goes on staring at him. He just doesn’t. He even goes so far as biting down on his lip. Steve grins.

“What?” he asks. “What is it?”

The flush to Bucky’s cheeks makes Steve have to hold back a chuckle.

“Um, just… that thing… you got? You remember? For… me?” His cheeks get even darker. “Never mind.”

“That… _thing_ ,” Steve repeats. He lets his finger trail across the back of Bucky’s neck. The second he touches Bucky’s skin, Bucky’s eyes drift close. “ _That_ thing?”

Lips folding in, Bucky’s eyes have opened. He trembles and seems to need a few seconds to regain a sense of balance. 

“Yes,” Bucky whispers. “You said you’d… did you? Is it still…?”

“You mean…” Steve now cups the back of his neck. “Did I keep your collar? Is it still here?” To that, Bucky lets out a tiny breath and can only nod. “Yes. And yes. Do you want it, Bucky? Do you want your collar?”

Bucky swallows and bites down so hard on his lip that Steve’s worried he actually might hurt himself. He reaches over to pull his lip out from under his teeth. 

“Y-yes,” Bucky whimpers. “Please. Yes.”

A thrill flutters up Steve’s spine. Butterflies that have moved from his stomach to dance happily around in the outside world.

He leans in close. Presses his brow to Bucky’s temple and murmurs, “Yes _what_ , sweet boy?”

Bucky whimpers. Says, after a shudder, “Yes, sir.”

Oh, and it’s as though planets have aligned to make everything right with the world once again. 

“Sit up straight,” Steve instructs, and Bucky snaps upright. “ _Don’t_ move. I’ll be right back.” 

Bucky nods and looks up at Steve with big, glittering eyes. A glow all over him.

Steve hurries into the bedroom where he’s been storing the box with the collar among other personal things. He doesn’t even have to look for it. The little box he last looked at around Christmas time is right on top of everything else. When he holds it, it’s like the whole thing breathes a brand new life into him. A heart beat in his hands. As promised, Steve returns to Bucky quickly -- box in hand. That glow around Bucky brightens with his next smile. 

“You want this, Bucky?” Steve asks approaches. Reminds himself to go a little slower as he holds the box securely. “Hm? You want your collar?”

Bucky’s nodding before Steve’s even finished with the question. “Oh, yes. Yes, _please_ , sir. I want it. I want it _so_ bad. I’ve been _dyin’_ for it.”

Well if that’s not enough to get Steve to stop dead in his tracks. He knew, back on Christmas night, that it was hard for Bucky to take the collar off. That there _was_ some sort of significant meaning to it the same way there is for Steve and the weight of it had just been too much. 

It’s probably something they should talk about, but they’ve talked about quite a lot today, so that’s definitely a conversation for another time. Right now, his sweet Bucky -- his boyfriend, his sub -- is waiting for him.

Steve finishes going the rest of the way to the couch and sits with Bucky. Watching him so closely, so carefully. Like he just might combust if Steve doesn’t get on with it. There’s fear there, too. Steve can see it even if Bucky’s trying to smother it back with these more positive emotions, but it’s there. And Steve needs to address this, so he puts the box down between them. 

“You’re sure this is what you want, sweetheart?” he asks. Steve holds his palm out as Bucky starts that quick nodding again. “Before you say anything, hear me out. I need for you to understand that accepting my collar as your own means a _whole_ lot to me.” Bucky listens to him very seriously, hanging onto every word like it might save his life. “This means agreeing to be my submissive. It means agreeing to everything we’ve discussed and to accepting _me_ as your Dominant. It… it means that, even when it’s _not_ on…” Steve grazes his finger over the bare skin of Bucky’s exposed throat. “...it still is.”

It occurs to Steve then that he does a lot of romantic things so he might as well try making this romantic, too. He picks up the box and holds it out to Bucky. “I love you, Bucky. And I’d be honored if you’d wear this collar. Will you wear it and be my submissive?”

There’re tears in Bucky’s eyes. Diamond drops that glisten as the corners of his lips lift in an amazed smile. His eyes drop to the collar. Even his fingers twitch like he wants to reach out and touch it. 

“Yes,” Bucky whispers, pushing the word out like if he doesn’t now he’ll never find the courage to again. “Yes, Steve, please. I want you to be my Dominant.”

The strings of Steve’s heart, which have steadily been growing longer and thicker since last night, tangle with Bucky’s. Wrap together in a bow that might not be the neatest, but that’s okay. He almost can’t even speak, he’s so overcome with emotion. Steve never even considered how he’d react to this. Now that it’s happening, he feels tears of his own.

There was always some part of him that felt protective of Bucky from the very first night they met. It's only grown stronger since then but this. _This._ This is unlike anything Steve has ever known. 

Bucky has agreed to be his. _Is_ his now, and Steve will honor and cherish that commitment for as long as possible. He'll go to the ends of the earth to keep Bucky out of harm's way. Be Bucky’s shield in any way he can. 

“Will you…” Bucky’s voice is just above a whisper, “put it on me, sir?”

“It’d be an honor and a privilege, sweet boy,” Steve says as he carefully takes the collar out of the box. “Hold still for me.”

Folding that smile in, Bucky sucks in a deep breath, his eyes big and wide, and does just that. Everything else is also still and quiet around them. Afternoon sun pours in through the window the leprechaun gold, coins spilling in and glowing all around them. It’s almost as though the world is waiting. Waiting for _them_. 

Steve leans in, chin on Bucky’s shoulder, and wraps his arms around to buckle the collar in place. 

The heat coming from Bucky’s body alone is intoxicating. His warm breath tingles as it floats softly against the side of Steve’s neck. Every muscle in Bucky’s body is pulled taut. Their chests are pressed together. Pushing closer and closer each time they breathe. 

Steve slips the collar around Bucky’s neck, making sure not to make it too tight as he secures it in place. The second Steve finishes with the buckle, all of Bucky’s muscles relax and he immediately goes pliant against Steve’s shoulder as though he suddenly needs the support. He’s still breathing heavy and his arms are limp at his sides. Bucky whimpers and his whole body quivers as though he's not only floated away on some fluffy, glowing clouds but is feeling something running through his body as well. Something that has his eyes half-lidded and his mouth hanging open.

Until Bucky’s fingers begin to twitch. Once they gain a bit more mobility, they lift to skim the collar resting comfortably around him. One of them hooks into the ring, and Steve wonders if Bucky is cherishing this moment the same as he is. If he feels their hearts beating together.

There’s an exhilaration that pumps around them. Charged and electric, rousing every bit of sensation that once was and has now changed as they just sit there together on Steve’s couch with the simple act of adding a collar around Bucky’s neck. And yet it’s so much more. A confession between souls that were never meant to be and find themselves together anyway. A rare murmur of fragile and pure perfection.

The collar looks beautiful on Bucky. The black leather wrapped snuggly around his neck. A new friend giving him a welcoming hug. 

“You still like it?” Steve asks. His voice shakes. He’s not sure why. “It still looks beautiful on you.” 

“It’s amazing,” Bucky answers. He sounds dazed. Far away, but still coherent. With Steve. “It feels… I love it, Steve. I never wanna take it off.”

Steve chuckles. Says, “Well, we might be able to arrange something else for you to wear in public. Something more discreet if that’s what you want to do.” Steve lets his own fingers trail just over the top of the collar so that their skins touch. “Something you’re not _allowed_ to take off without permission. Even with customers?”

Bucky seems to regain the use of his muscles when Steve says that and he slowly eases back up. Looks at Steve with wonder in his eyes.

“You’d do that?”

“I think we can make that happen,” Steve tells him and just loves the way he lights up like a kid in a candy store.

Bucky then shocks the hell out of him by throwing his arms around Steve’s waist. He snuggles against him. Nuzzles into Steve’s side and hugs him tighter.

“Whoa,” Steve chuckles. “Hello there.” 

“I missed you,” Bucky murmurs. “I missed you so much, Steve. I missed this. I missed your touch.”

Running a hand over Bucky’s head, Steve swathes him tightly in his arms.

“You didn’t… let me touch you,” he whispers. “Believe me, I wanted to.” 

“I know.” Bucky sighs. “I didn’t… I couldn’t let…”

“I know,” Steve says. “I understand. I’ll make it up to you,” he tells him as he holds him closer. “If you want.”

Peeking up from under the folds of Steve’s arm, Bucky’s eyebrows pull in.

“Make it up to _me_?” He shakes his head. “I was the one who did want you touchin’...” Bucky trails off like he’s suddenly rethinking that. “Y’know what?” He makes himself comfortable in Steve’s embrace. “Sure. You can make it up to me.” 

Steve snickers and wraps his sweet boy up in his arms. Kisses the top of his head as Bucky keeps absently playing with the ring of his collar. There’s this cute, relaxed grin curved up on his mouth as he rests against Steve and watches whatever he puts on the TV. This is probably the most carefree Steve’s ever really seen him. Carefree and real. 

He’s not putting on a show for Steve. Not the illusion of happiness. Either to turn a trick or so that those around him just don’t suspect his actual mood. Right now, Bucky just actually looks happy and content. 

For a little while, they just sit there like that. Quiet and with each other. Tangled up on Steve’s couch. Every now and then, Bucky discreetly lifts his chin to peer up at Steve. Not with that careful, guarded look, he had last night, but with this dazzled, almost starstruck shine to his eyes, like he just can’t believe this is real. Steve tries to give Bucky the dignity of pretending he doesn’t always know it when he looks up -- and maybe he doesn’t always -- since whenever they lock eyes Bucky laughs and blushes and smothers his face in Steve’s side.

When Bucky _stops_ his little glances, Steve realizes that he’s fallen asleep on top of him. His mouth is cracked open and he’s somehow ended up draped over Steve’s body. One of his arms hangs off the side of the couch. His left leg is sort of hooked around Steve’s. Since Bucky never styled his hair after his shower it’s sticking up all over the place, mischievous locks of it reaching up to tickle Steve’s chin.

Steve doesn’t mind in the least. Smiling, he grabs the blanket over the back of the couch and covers the both of them. Rubs his hand softly over Bucky’s back just how he knows he likes. 

“Rest, baby,” Steve murmurs. “I got you. And I’m not letting go.”

Steve drifts in and out himself. Keeps Bucky tucked securely in his arms so that when he wakes, a little over an hour later, he’s still in them. 

Picking up his head from Steve’s chest, Bucky wipes the pad of his thumb across the corner of his mouth and smacks his lips together. He looks around the room like he’s a little confused before realizing where he is and who he’s with and possibly a rush of memories that come flooding him through him. 

He looks up at Steve through those long, thick lashes, nibbles on his lip, and smirks.

“You make an excellent pillow, narc.” He slips his hand over Steve’s chest so that he can easily rest his chin there. “Very comfy.” 

Steve scoffs. “Oh, I’m so very happy to be of service.” 

“Well, you gotta be good for something, right?”

Bucky says it while stretching. His legs are pulled out and he’s got one arm reached above his head, so he’s probably not expecting Steve’s hand to come flying down across his ass. 

The slap vibrates across Steve’s hand. It makes Bucky jerk back it like the snap of a rubber band and he looks up at Steve like he has no idea what just happened. 

“I think I might be good for a few things,” Steve remarks. “Don’t you?”

Bucky releases a heavy breath, a little whimper mixed in there, and tries to form a few words with very little success. Instead, he nods. Steve puts his finger next to his ear.

“Hm?” He taps his ears. “Don’t you think?” 

“Yes,” Bucky whispers. “Yes, sir.” 

“Mm. Good boy.” Bucky absolutely glows. “How’re you feeling? You okay?” He taps the collar. “Everything’s still okay? You still want this on?”

“Yeah!” Bucky exclaims. “Don’t make me take it off.”

“Oh, no, baby, I’m not gonna make you take it off.”

Relief flashes through Bucky as he actually lets out a cute sigh through pursed lips. He does look up at Steve like he’s got something else on his mind though.

“What?” Steve asks. “What’s going on up there?”

“Damn it,” Bucky grumbles. “Why’dya gotta know me so well?”

Steve shrugs. “Just the way I roll.”

“Oh my _god_.” Bucky snorts and drops his face down. “ _Please_ , for the love of my youth, don’t _ever_ say that again.”

Laughing, Steve jostles him a little and is pretty sure he’s gonna fall more in love with him every single day. He’s gonna burst one day -- his body just not strong enough to handle all the love he has for Bucky Barnes. Stardust is going to come streaming out of him to light up the nighttime sky. 

“Seriously though,” Steve says. “What is it?”

“Oh.” Bucky stretches his lips. “It’s no biggie. I just… kinda…” He adjusts his hips a little, still wrapped up in Steve’s arms. “I gotta go to the bathroom.” 

The look on Bucky’s face suggests he’s thinking the same things Steve is. First, he probably remembers the way he so _kindly_ pushed his knee against Steve’s _very_ full bladder this morning. And, second, neither of them have made a secret of enjoying bathroom control. 

“Is that so?” Steve asks as he coils his arms tighter around Bucky. “How bad?”

Bucky’s eyes go wide as if he really didn’t expect that to be the response. Not today. Or at least not right now. 

“Um. Not… so bad.”

Steve takes a moment to pretend he’s thinking on that. In all reality, Steve has no intention of actually making him wait. Their current positions would make that a little awkward and not exactly the wisest. Still, the look on Bucky’s face -- half-embarrassed, half-aroused -- is very worth the slight delay. 

Steve lets loose a laugh and unravels his arms. Holds onto Bucky’s cheeks and plants it firm and quick. 

Says, “Go on, sweet boy.”

Flashing a quick grin, Bucky says thank you as he swings his leg over Steve to get off the couch. In his haste, he clips his knee on Steve’s shin and stumbles over his own two feet. He never actually falls, but the air of nonchalance and coolness he tries to maintain is definitely absent. Even more so when he runs his fingers through his hair -- making it messier still -- and takes a glimpse over his shoulder. As if checking to see if maybe Steve somehow, maybe, hopefully, didn’t see it happen. 

“Smooth,” Steve says.

Bucky struggles with a response that might outweigh what just happened and manages to come up with, “Shut up.”

He goes off with another grumble as Steve sits up and waits for him to come back. When Bucky does just a few minutes later, he pauses by the end of the coffee table and fiddles with his fingers. 

“You okay?” Steve asks.

“Yeah,” Bucky answers, still looking down at his fingers. “It’s just. Can I… It's okay if I…”

He gestures to the couch and Steve understands what he means. Bucky’s still unsure about this whole affection thing. He wants it. Craves it even but still finds himself uncertain how to go about getting it. So Steve opens his arms to welcome him back into them. 

The sun silhouettes around him, and Steve could swear Bucky’s smile makes it shine brighter. He skips on over and when he gets back on the couch he crawls back over to Steve to get himself nestled right back into his arms. 

While they’re sitting there, half watching television, half having conversations about little bits of everything, Steve casually rubs his fingers up and down Bucky’s hip. An innocent touch. One he doesn’t think much of as he continues talking. 

It’s after that, though, that Bucky slowly stops talking altogether. At first, Steve isn’t quite sure why. It’s gradual. Bit by bit, Bucky’s answers just drift away. Steve thinks maybe it’s out of disinterest. Maybe it’s simply a matter of being more distracted by the television, though he can hardly imagine the western that’s come on is all the impressive to Bucky. 

When Bucky shivers -- tries to hold in a whimper that escapes anyway -- Steve’s brain begins to put pieces of the puzzle together. Bucky’s trying very hard to keep still. His breath is starting to hitch. His toes are curled. His cheeks are flushed. 

Like earlier, it seems even just the lightest touch makes Bucky’s skin quiver. He’s trying to hide it this time. Folding his lips in and squeezing his eyes closed, but tiny little whimpers continue to climb up and out his throat. Every now and then he squirms. His hips will jerk. All from Steve gently caressing his hip. 

Bucky’s shifted slightly so that his hand is almost over his crotch. Since he’s still only wearing the boxers he borrowed from Steve, the tip of his erection is starting to poke out, and for some reason, Bucky seems determined to keep Steve from knowing just how crazy his touch is making him. Steve can’t imagine why, but for now, he’ll continue pretending that he’s got no clue what’s going on. That all he’s interested in is innocent touching. 

Every now and then, Bucky bites down on his lip and tilts his head back. Steve can feel his eyes on him even if neither of them have said anything.

Between his own legs, Steve’s cock is awakening. The thought of Bucky coming to life and being slowly taken apart by just a simple touch of Steve’s hand is invigorating. Dreams and fantasies coming true right before his eyes. 

By the time Bucky bites down on his fist to keep new noises from coming out, even Steve can’t take it any longer. He scoops him up and onto his lap. The friction on his own erection, even between the little bit of clothing, is just perfect. 

“What’s going on, sweet boy?” Steve murmurs into Bucky’s ear, smirking as Bucky’s cheeks fill with a blush. “I’ve barely even touched you and you’re hard as a rock.”

“I-- I don’t…” Bucky folds his lips in and whimpers. He rocks his hips gently as he leans back against Steve. “I don’t know. I dunno, just don’t stop. Don’t stop touchin’ me.”

Steve stills his hand. Leaves it where it is but no longer does he let the teasing caresses continuing. 

“Hm. Are you ordering _me_ around, sweet boy?”

Bucky whimpers and quickly shakes his head. “Oh, no. No, sir. Please, I mean. Please, don’t stop.”

“Ah.” Steve leaves his lips just gliding over Bucky’s neck, even across the collar, as he moves his hand again, now letting it crawl a little more into his boxers. “Better.”

It’s… amazing. Bucky on his lap, trembling from head to toe as Steve gently caresses him. Gently kisses up the side of his neck. Gently rocks his hips up. 

Sometimes Steve will sneak a hand up Bucky’s shirt and find a nipple He’ll twist and roll and turn, and Bucky yelps and whimpers, and his head will roll back on Steve’s shoulder. Steve coaxes his chin towards him and eases him in for a kiss. Slow. Deep. Testing new waters. 

Bucky has one arm down on the couch for balance, the other up and behind him so that he can cup the back of Steve’s head as they kiss. The more they kiss, the quicker Bucky starts to move. Dragging his ass along Steve’s cock as though he’s desperate for it. 

He whimpers into the kiss when Steve begins to push down the boxers for him. And when Steve finally touches Bucky’s cock, easing his fingers over the head of it to smear the drool of precome, his moan is so loud Steve is worried he might’ve hurt him. He even goes to pull away from his mouth and would too if Bucky didn’t keep him there. It even takes another second for Steve to realize that Bucky’s thrusting into his hand now -- those light, easy touches having driven him to wild abandon. 

This time, Steve does pull away from the kiss. Takes hold of Bucky’s hip and pushes it back against himself. 

“Stay still,” he orders. “Be good.”

Bucky’s panting hard and heavy. There’s a sheen of sweat right across his hairline. It takes a second, but his eyes manage to focus on Steve. He nods.

“Okay,” he whispers.

Steve smiles. “Good boy.”

That flush to Bucky’s skin deepens and he melts away with a smile of his own. Trembling fingers reach up to skim the loop of his collar. Bucky smiles more. 

Once again, Steve starts to move his hips. Slow and steady. Giving Bucky rhythm without speed. He groans. 

“More,” he begs. “Oh please, Steve. Sir. Please, more.”

Not sure if he means more of the same or more of anything, Steve figures he’ll give him a little of both. He pushes his hips up more and starts kissing Bucky’s neck. Just hard enough to leave pink marks on soft skin.

Trying so hard to keep still like Steve told him, Bucky squirms on his lap and _oh_. Oh, that feels good. Steve grinds against Bucky to get more for himself, sucking harder between Bucky’s neck and shoulder. Bucky moves in suit. Not thrusting his hips like Steve told him not to, but moving along with him. Letting Steve use him to pull every ounce of pleasure from his body that he so desires. Knowing just how to do that. Steve’s pretty little toy still all wrapped up in its dressings. 

Bucky’s moaning and trembling in Steve’s arms as Steve grinds harder and faster against him. The wet spot on the front of the boxers has gotten bigger. Every time Steve’s hand passes over, he can feel Bucky’s cock just dripping.

Steve’s own cock is tightening. That impending orgasm gathering in the pit of his stomach at it readies to break through him. He could let it hit. Let it roll over him in a wave of glorious rapture as his cock spills empty between him and Bucky. 

“Stop.” Steve stills himself instead. “Stop, stop.”

“What? Why what’s wrong?” Bucky asks, coming to an abrupt halt on top of Steve. “What happened?”

Steve may’ve just yanked him out of a pretty deep daze. Possibly the start of subspace. He runs a soothing hand up and down Bucky’s arm. Keeps him warm and reassured. Safe.

“Nothing,” he murmurs. “You just feel so good.” Bucky eases his gaze back to meet Steve's. “And I don't wanna come yet.”

A soft, tiny smile pulls at one corner of Bucky’s mouth. He relaxes again. Well, as much as he can in his current state, and with his needy, restless body calling most of the shots, it’s really not all that much. His chest rises and falls since he still needs to gulp in deep drinks of air.

“Steve,” he whispers. Whimpers as he struggles to keep still. “Sir. _Please_.” 

“Shh,” Steve comforts. Nibbles and nips at Bucky’s earlobe. “I know, baby. I know what you need. And I’m gonna give it to you, my sweet boy.” 

Hand moving across Bucky’s thigh, Steve watches Bucky’s face pinch with helpless desire. If Steve doesn’t get to his cock soon, he might just grab his hand and bring it there himself. He tosses his head back and forth and even manages to sneak his hand between him and Steve.

“Mmm.” Steve tilts his hips up, rocking into Bucky’s soft grip. “Are you trying to entice me?”

“Mhm,” is all Bucky’s able to get out. Another quick nod of his head along with it. 

His legs spread wider as Steve’s hand glides across his skin. A single tear slips out of the corner of Bucky’s eye. He sobs when Steve finally takes hold of his cock and strokes. One long, soft stroke from bottom to head all along the shaft. 

Steve keeps that up. Long, smooth motions up and down Bucky’s length. He’s still crying a little. Steve kisses away the few tears he can as Bucky continues to tremble with need and want and debauched bliss on his lap. 

Words have been long since lost to whatever fog and haze have rolled in. Bucky’s mouth tries to form them but those that do get out are strings of incoherent babble. Meaningless nothing as he loses himself more and more to Steve’s ceaseless, mind-numbing stroking. 

Somehow, and Steve’s so sweetly impressed, Bucky’s able to remember to hold still. He goes to thrust his hip up into Steve’s hand more than once, but even under the misty mid-summer’s cloudburst of drifting into subspace, he’s able to listen. 

“Hey,” Steve murmurs before he loses Bucky completely. “You still with me, sweet boy?”

Bucky nods but keeps his eyes closed. Keeps his jaw clenched. Keeps his fingers wrapped tightly around Steve’s leg. 

“Are you gonna come from this, Bucky?” he asks. Moves his hand just as slowly up and down his cock. Gentle. Soft. “Can you?”

Eyes popping open, Bucky looks torn between hating this and loving it. A part of him, Steve thinks, wants to come right now. Want to beg Steve to end this mindless torture and just give him the release his so badly needs. Another part wants to keep it up. See how long he can go until he just can’t take it any longer. Taken apart bit by bit until he’s a sobbing mess and melting into a puddle on Steve’s lap. Finished by the same soft touches that started this. 

Not stopping his hand, Steve presses his brow against Bucky’s temple to say, “Answer me, sweet boy. Can you come like this?”

Bucky, already flushed and sweaty and breathless turns an even darker shade of scarlet. He ducks his chin down as though suddenly shy and Steve swears he feels Bucky’s cock pulse in his hand.

Bucky whines, “Please, don’t stop, Steve.”

“Answer me,” Steve almost _growls._ “And maybe I won't stop.”

“I don't… _mmm_ … sir…” Bucky struggles a little more with uncooperative words before finally getting an answer out. “Yes! Yes, just… _please_ …”

So Steve doesn’t stop. He smiles and continues to let his hand simply glide up and down Bucky’s cock. Slow. Soft. Adding a few kisses and whispered praises as he does. 

The combination of it all has Bucky shaking like crazy. His knees are trembling, uncontrollable vibrations that make them bounce off the couch cushion and Steve’s thigh. Every now and then his hips jerk up searching for more, but he somehow finds enough control of himself to stop. To push back against Steve and hold still before he gets scolded. 

“What a good boy you are, Bucky,” Steve murmurs. “Such a good boy.”

Biting his lip, Bucky lets out a unstrained cry, a few tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. 

“Oh, _please_ , sir, I wanna come… please, make me come…” 

“You can come, sweet boy,” Steve says with a snicker and his brow pressed right against Bucky’s temple. “Any time you want.” 

Breathless and trembling, Bucky whimpers and practically tries to tear his hair out. 

“Cut that out before you hurt yourself,” Steve warns. “You said you could come like this so you’ll come just” -- he slides his hand down Bucky’s cock just as gently as he has been -- “like this.” 

Bucky howls his frustration, dropping his hands like he was told. His head presses firmly into Steve’s chest and ass begins to grind again. Like he just can’t help it. Steve permits it now. It feels too good to try to stop him. The friction and rhythm Steve needs over his own dick, his body tightening and orgasm gathering. The fuse of a firework getting shorter and shorter. 

In Steve’s hand, Bucky’s cock pulses. His fingers dig into Steve’s sweats, clinging onto the fabric like his life depends on it. 

“Steve…” he whines. “Sir… M’gonna… gonna come… please… say it’s okay… _please_ …”

Steve chuckles. “I already did say it was okay. Go on, sweet boy. You can come.” 

Eyes going wide, Bucky’s jaw drops as he starts to come. A soundless explosion of needed pleasure. Trembling on Steve’s body. Taken apart by a few light touches. 

Steve wraps his arm around Bucky’s waist and holds him down against him. He trusts up. Once. Twice. And that fuse hits. Fireworks setting off in his own abandoned bliss. Wave after wave of beautiful ecstasy washing over him. 

“Steve! Oh, Steve, stop! Please, stop! _Sir_! Please!”

Bucky’s sudden cry pulls Steve back down from euphoric clouds where he realizes that he’s still moving his hand over his cock. His spent and over sensitive cock. It’s making Bucky yelp and shudder and try to get away without actually going anywhere. All he’s doing is whining -- hard -- through tightly clenched teeth as he squirms over Steve’s lap. 

Though Steve hadn’t planned this, he can work with it and doesn’t stop stroking just yet. Even with the sticky mess still in his own pants, Steve goes on with this idea. 

“I just made you come, sweet boy,” Steve reminds him. “Where’re your manners?”

“ _Oh_ , _Steve_!” Bucky howls a whine, a few tears leaking down the sides of his face. “Th-thank you, sir! Thank you for--”

But Steve lets him off the hook before he can finish expressing the second half and let's go. The second his hand is off of Bucky’s cock, Bucky goes limp over his body. He takes in a few deep breaths and then starts laughing through his heavy panting. 

“You’re the worst,” Bucky gets out. “I hate you.” 

“ _Hey_.” Steve pokes him in the side. “Ouch.”

Before Steve can take his hand away from Bucky’s side, Bucky grabs hold of his fingers and brings them right up to his lips to kiss. Even after that peck, he doesn’t let go. Instead, he nuzzles against Steve’s hand. 

“Mm-mm,” he says. Adds another kiss and goes back to snuggling. “Not for real.” 

Steve chuckles. “Oh. Just pretend?” 

“Mhm.” Bucky, turning onto his side, takes Steve’s arm to wrap himself up in it. “I only hate you a little.” 

Steve snorts and wraps him up in his arms, thrilled that Bucky not only wants it but sought it. Sure, there’s the growing discomfort of the drying aftermath of release, but Steve hardly minds right now. He can deal with it right now. After all the times of trying to coax him into accepting aftercare and these past weeks of Bucky not allowing Steve to touch him at all, having Bucky _want_ to cuddle now is like paradise and very much worth any discomfort, it might bring. 

Kissing the top of his head, Steve holds him close. As his arms close around him, Bucky hums softly and nestles into Steve’s embrace. He peeks up at him before smothering his face in Steve’s shirt. 

“How do you feel?” Steve asks. Runs a finger along Bucky’s collar. “You doin’ okay, baby?” 

“Mm.” Bucky shifts a little. “You’re dangerously comfortable, narc. But M’gettin’ thirsty though. Hydrate me.”

He picks his eyes up. Steve can see the nerves swimming through them. Nerves Bucky tries to hide with a flick of his eyebrows and a pull of his lips. Still trying to find a spot where all of this makes sense. A comfortable place where the ease of teasing and joking is a part of their everyday relationship again combined with the rest of this. Kisses and hugs. The more and more doses of affection that Bucky continues to seek without truly knowing how. 

“Anything else, Your Highness?” Steve asks. Adds a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head as he starts to slip out from under him to get a drink. “Another pair of boxers maybe?”

Eyes growing wide with both suspicion and surprise, Bucky just sits up and stares up at him when Steve gets to his feet. 

“Wait you’re…” He shakes his head. “You’re really gonna get that stuff for me?”

Steve grins. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Oh. I don’t… I mean, I just…” 

Bucky shrugs as the start of a few more nonsensical statements come out. He gets no further than that before giving up.

“Well, one thing you should know, kid.” Steve drops a hand on his head. “Just because we’ve decided that I’m technically in charge of this relationship doesn’t mean I’m not gonna spoil you every chance I get.” 

Just staring at Steve, Bucky’s mouth fumbles with a few sounds before he finally just covers his whole face with both his hands and giggles into them. He shakes his head like he just can’t help it. 

“Oh, _wow_.” He slowly starts to lower his hands. “I… Oh, Steve, I…” 

“Is that really so unusual?” Steve asks.

The expression on Bucky’s face -- that unsure pull to his lips, the way his eyes dart from Steve’s face to his lap -- falls right to Steve’s stomach. It sits there like a brick. Hard and heavy. Of course it’d feel unusual for Bucky. He’s said it himself that the only one’s who’ve ever treated him in such a way had ulterior motives. Wanted to save him from his tragic life or just string him along emotionally. 

Slipping his fingers under Bucky’s chin, Steve lifts his face so that he press a kiss to his forehead. 

He says, “I love you, Bucky. And I’ll do anything I can to make you smile for no other reason than to see you smile. Okay?”

There’s a tug at Bucky’s lips. They almost pull into a smile but keep that tentative strain. Steve shouldn’t be all that surprised. One afternoon isn’t enough to rid Bucky of the uncertainties that have wired themselves to his heart and soul. This is going to take work and effort. Meticulous _re_ wiring so Bucky can be just as bright and lively and confident as he acts all the time. 

Giving Bucky one last kiss to the top of his head, Steve goes to get him that change of clothes and drink. He stops at the bathroom to quickly get himself cleaned up, also getting a warm washcloth so Bucky can get cleaned as well. 

“I’m gonna get you water,” Steve tells Bucky after handing him everything, “okay?” 

Bucky just nods and takes the cloth and clothes. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even do with Steve standing there, so Steve just takes it upon himself to into the kitchen for that glass of water. Steve even takes his time, just in case Bucky wants a minute or two by himself. In fact, a drink doesn’t sound so bad for him as well. Steve fills up another glass and gulps it down. 

When Steve gets back to the living room, he finds Bucky completely changed -- dressed now in those clothes Steve gave to him when he showered. They’re too big on him -- shirt almost hanging off his shoulder and pants bunching by the knees -- though that’s not surprising. The dirty clothes, even the washcloth, are gone, and Bucky is sitting quietly. Texting. He looks up when Steve comes into the room. Folds his hands over the phone and squeezes. Heart slowly rising to his throat, Steve’s own hand squeezes the glass he’s holding. 

“Are you…” Steve clears his throat. “Do you have to go?”

First looking at the phone, Bucky puts it down and shakes his head. Then he seems to think on that. He glances back at Steve without really lifting his gaze. 

“Unless you… want me to?”

“No.” He goes to sit down next to Bucky again. Hands him the glass of water he brought out. “Here you go.” 

Without anything more than a very quiet _thank you_ , Bucky takes the glass and sips from it. He turns it a bit in his hands, letting his fingers streak through the light condensation. 

“Are you okay?” Steve whispers. 

Bucky takes another drink before putting the glass down and drumming his fingers over his knee. He nods. Shakes his head. Shrugs. 

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks. “You can tell me.”

What he means is: _please, tell me_. 

Bucky offers a tiny grin, though it hardly reaches his eyes and does nothing to brighten his face. 

“Nothin’,” he murmurs. “I mean, y’know, nothing I can put my finger on, I guess. I’m just… waiting.” 

He looks away after that. Like he means what he says but doesn’t want to believe it. Or, at least, wishes he didn’t. 

“Waiting?” It only takes a beat of his heart to realize what it is that Bucky’s waiting for. “You’re waiting for me to back out of this,” he says. “Aren’t you?”

Almost as though he’s ashamed, Bucky lowers his head and shrinks into his shoulders. 

“I’m sorry.” 

That’s all Bucky says. It’s all he needs to say, really. Yes, that’s exactly what he’s waiting for. Why wouldn’t he be? Steve hardly wants him to feel guilty over it thought. Other than him not feeling it at all, that’s one of the last things Steve would ever want him to feel. 

Steve doesn’t respond at first. At least, not verbally. First, he leans against Bucky’s shoulder. Guides them both back so that they’re leaning against the back of the couch. He takes Bucky’s hand, opens it, and presses a soft kiss to the center of his palm. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Steve says, patting Bucky’s hand and holding it close to his chest. “You can’t help the way you feel.”

“But I don’t…” Bucky huffs. “Never mind.”

“No, go on.” Steve sits back up but is sure to keep hold of Bucky’s hand. “What were you gonna say?”

It takes a few seconds, and of Bucky twisting his lips this way and that way, but he finally looks back up and sighs with a shrug. 

“I don’t _wanna_ feel this way. I wanna be _normal_.”

Steve gives him something of a crooked smile. That’s something he can definitely relate to. Maybe in a different manner, but he understands.

“Yeah. But what’s normal, Buck?” Steve brushes a few strands of stubborn hairs away from Bucky’s brow. “I wish I didn’t panic anytime someone called me when I wasn’t expecting them to. I automatically think it’s bad news.”

Within his own hand, Bucky’s shifts just enough so that he can hold onto his thumb. A mix of sympathy and worry ripple across his face. Steve can see him trying to look back on things. Maybe trying to figure out if he’s ever done that to him. 

“That happens to you?” 

“I panic a _lot,_ actually. You’d think after ten-almost eleven years now, I’d be used to it and not expect every little thing to be something horrible happening.” 

Whispering Steve’s name, Bucky leans in to hug him. Tight and affectionate -- cupping the back of Steve’s head and gently petting. Seems he can give comfort when necessary, he just doesn’t know how to go about asking for it when he needs it. A self-sacrificing angel willing to walk through the flames of Hell for those he loves without a second thought.

“Hey.” Steve pulls him in close and hugs him back. “It’s okay. I’m working on it. And I’m just saying that… we all have our demons, I guess, and I’m not gonna chase you away just because of yours.” 

Bucky smiles, softly, before inching closer -- once again not sure if he should when he so clearly wants to. Returning the smile, Steve holds an arm out to save him from having to wonder any further than that. That invitation is enough, and Bucky folds himself into Steve’s embrace with a hum. His fingers curl tightly into Steve’s shirt, clinging onto him as they sit there together. Steve wonders if Bucky just feels the need to. Like if he doesn’t, Steve will disappear on him. 

Steve says nothing about it. He just lets Bucky do whatever it is he needs at the moment to feel comfortable. 

They don’t bother trying to fill the silence this time. There’s no reason. Right now, there’s just nothing Steve can say that will help and there’s nothing that Bucky seems to want to say. Steve doesn’t mind the quiet, and as long as Bucky is okay with, too, he’ll leave it be. It’s peaceful. Comforting, even, knowing they don’t have to scramble about trying to find something to talk about just to fill the silence. They can just be in each other’s company. 

The silence, though, which does stretch on for a significant amount of perfectly comfortable time, does get interrupted. Not by either of them. No, it’s Bucky’s phone that does it. A cruel reminder that life exists somewhere outside of here. 

When it goes off, both Steve and Bucky turn to look at it at the same time. It’s a phone call, not a text. Bucky cranes his neck a little to see who it is. There’s a name on the screen, Steve can tell that much. 

“Shit,” Bucky mumbles when he catches the name and reaches for the phone. “Shit. I…” He looks back at Steve. Worried. Apologetic. “I kinda have to…”

Oh. No wonder Bucky looks so nervous. That’s not just an ordinary run-of-the-mill call. It must be a customer. A pretty important one by the looks of it. 

Well, this was gonna happen eventually. No point in trying to avoid it now. Steve tries to offer his best, encouraging smile and nods.

“Go ahead,” he says. “Do whatever you have to.” 

Lip tucked under his teeth, Bucky takes one last worried look at Steve -- there might even be tears hugging the corners of his eyes -- and bolts off the couch. As he’s headed somewhere deeper into the apartment, Steve can hear him answer the call. Cool. Casual. Like there’s nothing wrong at all. 

“Hey there, beautiful. Miss me?”

Knots tie in Steve’s stomach. They hurt. Steve leans over to try to process this. He can do this. He’s sure of it. All it takes is a reminder that Bucky _is_ his now. He’s even still wearing his collar and accepted all that comes with it. They’ve established that they’re in a relationship. Together. 

There’s no reason to worry now. Well, other than Steve’s usual worries. But they’ve come up with ways to better deal with them. Bucky’s given him a most wonderful offer just to make Steve feel more comfortable. Anyone else Bucky’s with is meaningless. It’s _their_ relationship, _their_ interactions, that matter. They mean more than any of the people that Bucky will be with when he’s not with Steve. That’s all that matters. 

“Steve?”

Still leaned over -- elbows on his knees -- Steve lifts his head. Bucky’s barely been gone five minutes. Before Steve can even acknowledge his return, Bucky’s face falls. 

“Oh, I knew it!” he exclaims. “I knew you were gonna freak out! I knew it, I _knew_ it!” 

“No, I’m…” Steve straightens and shakes his head. “I’m not. I’m not freaking out.”

“You are!” Bucky scrubs his hands over his face. “You don’t… I… Steve, you _promised_!”

“Hey, hey.” Steve tries to keep his voice lower than Bucky’s while still gaining some sort of volume. “Bucky, I’m…” He sighs. “I’m not freaking out. I just… I needed a minute, that’s all.”

Bucky’s starting to pace. A quick back and forth on the other side of Steve’s coffee table while he rubs circles into his temples. He opens his mouth a few times only to gobble the words back down. There’s only so much of that Steve can watch before he’s up on his feet trying to stop him. 

“Bucky, look at me, please,” Steve says, gently taking hold of his shoulders. Bucky stops but doesn’t quite look at him. “I told you that I’m not freaking out and I’m _not_. But I _do_ need you to be patient with me. This is just as new to me as it is to you.” 

At first, Steve is sure that Bucky is going to just start pacing again. Or at least start fidgeting like he just doesn’t have it in him to believe Steve. But instead of doing that, he finally does as Steve asked before and looks up at him. 

“Why?” Bucky asks. “I still don’t understand why you’re willing to put up with this. Put up with me. It just doesn’t make sense.” 

“Yeah. You’re right. It _doesn’t_ make sense.” Bucky’s shoulders drop when Steve says that. “But love usually doesn’t make much sense, does it? So, I don’t care that it doesn’t make sense, Bucky. Because all that matters to me is that I love you.”

A smile begins to creep up on Bucky’s face. The same one he always tries to keep back. It’s accompanied with a wisp of a blush as he ducks his head down and rests his against Steve’s chest. 

“You’re a dork, Steve,” he whispers.

Steve chuckles. “As long as I’m your dork.” 

“My dork.” Bucky nods with his head still pressed against Steve. “Yeah. Tell me something, Steve. What happens tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” Bucky takes a step back now but keeps his hands at Steve’s waist. “Like, when I leave here and we don’t see each other or do we see each other? We usually don’t, but do you--”

Holding a hand up, Steve gestures for him to slow down and then gently cups Bucky’s chin. 

“What happens tomorrow, whether we see each other or not, is that we’re committed to each other. I’m not setting out to find anyone else to be in a romantic relationship with. And” -- Steve shrugs -- “I assume you’re not either. Right?”

Bucky nods. So quickly it’s like he needs to in order for Steve to believe him. “Right! Yes, no one. I mean, no. Or, uh… I’m not lookin’ for anyone. I never really was. Well, there was…” He doesn’t finish that. “And anyone I _do,_ y’know, um, well--”

“Strictly professional,” Steve finishes for him. “Business.” 

“Yeah.” He nods. “No one like you. My Steve.” 

Steve’s heart sings. A brilliant symphony with every new note in harmony with the world around them. _My Steve_ , Bucky called him. Nothing can fill this moment with any more joy. 

There’s no stopping Steve. He’s filled to the brim with so much love that he might burst if he doesn’t do something. Which, right now, is taking a gentle hold on Bucky’s face and slamming their lips together. 

It pulls a gasp from Bucky’s lungs. For a second, he just stands there as though too startled to do anything else. After a second or two, he must realize what’s happening and chuckles against Steve’s mouth before kissing back. His arms lift to wrap around Steve’s neck, drawing him in closer. 

“I love you,” Steve whispers, still pressed against Bucky, their brows touching. “I’ve wanted to tell you for so long.” 

Bucky looks at him through long -- possibly wet -- lashes. Pulls himself in so that he can envelop Steve in his arms. His fingers cup the back of Steve’s head, running through his hair.

Mouth right next to Steve’s ear, Bucky murmurs, “I love you, too, Steve.” 

Wrapped up in Bucky’s embrace -- a place Steve would be willing to spend the rest of his life in -- Steve smiles. He snuggles against Bucky’s shoulder and melts into the warmth all around him. The world could burn down around them now and Steve would be one the wiser. All he knows is this. Two heartbeats becoming one. 

“Do you wanna stay for dinner?” Steve asks. 

“Mm.” Steve feels Bucky nod. “Sure. But…” Oh, no. No, buts. Please, no buts. “I should… probably go after that.”

“Oh.” It makes sense. Bucky’d have to leave eventually, but even with all that’s happened since he got here yesterday, it still feels as though he just walked in a few minutes ago. “I guess if I take forever to cook, maybe I get to keep you forever.” 

Bucky snorts but hugs Steve tighter before unraveling his arms from around Steve’s neck. Before he actually steps away, though, his fingers skim Steve’s cheek.

“You can keep me, Steve,” he murmurs. Even touches his collar. “For as long as you want.” 

“Oh yeah? I hope you mean that.” Steve loops their arms to bring them to the kitchen. “Cause now that I have you, I really might not let go.” 

He laughs as he’s saying it, but Steve’s serious. This was something that was never meant to be. Forbidden love that somehow found a way to exist in a world that wanted to keep them apart. Now that he has it -- has Bucky’s love and heart which he plans on treating with all the tenderness in the world -- he’s going to hold on with all the strength he has not to lose it. To be worthy of what Bucky’s given to him. 

In the middle of Steve’s soft laugh at his half joking, mostly serious statement, he thinks Bucky says something. Something that sounds a lot like _I hope so_ , but Steve doesn’t press it or ask anything about it. 

Dinner, as Steve predicted, goes much too quickly. Even preparing the lemon chicken with Bucky seems to fly by in just minutes. They eat. Have fun talking and laughing throughout their meal, same as last night. Bucky helps with cleaning up. All the dishes. Pans and trays they used for the cooking and all the dinnerware they used to eat with. 

And now Steve is at the door, handing Bucky a plastic bag filled with the clothes that he wore last night.

“You don’t _have_ to leave, y’know,” Steve says. “You can stay longer. Or even the night again. If you want.”

Bucky smirks. “Can’t stand the thought of me leavin’, huh?”

“No.” Steve chuckles. “Actually, I can’t. I want you to stay.” 

That smirk eases into a warm smile. Like melted caramel. Sweet and delicious and tempting. 

“So…” Bucky shifts his weight. “Can I see you tomorrow? Even though we normally don’t?”

Heart fluttering, Steve has to keep himself from damn near skipping in his spot. He feels like a little kid. All giddy and lit up inside. If he didn’t know any better, he’d assume Bucky could see glitter all around him. 

“Sure. I have a break between classes around noon. You’re on campus then, right?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah. That’s when I get there. First class is a quarter to one.” 

“How about lunch then?” Steve suggests. “We can meet by the student center.”

“Outside, maybe? If it’s nice again the fountains will be on.”

“It’s a date.” 

Bucky’s face lights up. He bites back a smile and ducks his head down, tugging at the end of the shirt Steve gave to him. Steve pulls him in for a hug.

“C’mere,” he says, softly. Rocks from side to side. “I can take you home if you want. If you _really_ need to go.” 

Chuckling, Bucky stays in Steve’s arms but lifts his gaze -- big smile on his face. 

“I do need to go. And you know I don’t live far.”

Steve twists his lips, but Bucky is right. It’s not all that far, even if Bucky walks it. He sighs and tries to give Bucky one of those pouts that Bucky’s so good at, but he’s sure he can’t pull it off so well. Especially when Bucky snorts and rolls his eyes. 

“Nice try, narc,” Bucky says. “You should leave the pitiful faces to me. I’m good at ‘em.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” He is right though. The kid can pull off pretty much anything. “We should probably, um, take that off now.”

Steve runs his hand at the base of Bucky’s neck, his fingers just skimming the collar that hasn't come off since Steve put it on. Mouth turning down, Bucky nods. His hand reaches up for it, fingers gripping the ring. Looks taking it off is the last thing he wants even if he understands why he needs to. 

“Yeah. I guess you're right.”

He turns around for Steve, lifting the back of his hair -- though it’s still not really long enough to be in the way -- and waits for Steve to take it off. Steve takes his time gently unbuckling the collar and taking it off. Once it’s in his hand, and before Bucky can move, he begins kissing all around the spot it’d been resting. Every inch. Sucking just hard enough to pull little red marks that’ll fade soon enough. 

Bucky moans slightly. Tilts his head back to offer Steve easier access to the sensitive columns of his throat. 

“There,” Steve says. “Now this collar stays here.” He runs the collar along Bucky’s cheek and touches the marks on his neck with his finger. “But you still have a little something.”

That seems to please Bucky enough that having to take the collar off isn’t as upsetting as it was a few moments ago. He runs a hand around his neck and grins. 

“Do me a favor though, would you?” Steve asks. 

“Yeah.” Bucky nods. “Anything.” He shrugs as that grin of his turns sly and saucy. “Are you gonna ask me to text you when I get home? Cause I was gonna do that anyway.” 

“Mm.” Steve shakes his head and pokes Bucky in the ribs just enough to make him squeak a giggle. “Such a brat. _Yes_ , I was gonna ask that, but not _just_ that.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky lifts his eyebrows. “Interesting. What were you gonna ask?”

“Just… would you let me know if you go out with a customer tonight? In fact.” Steve thinks on that for a second. “You wanted a rule, right?”

Eyes doubling in size, Bucky’s jaw drops. Steve can hear the gasp and see the moment it hits Bucky that he’s just as serious about their roles in this relationship as he is. All he does is nod. Steve’ll take it for now.

“Okay. It’s a two-part rule.” He holds two fingers for emphasis. “Part one, you always tell me when you have a customer. _Always_. And _two_ , you call me right after you call Natasha.” No way is Steve going to attempt to come between the two of them. “No exceptions. Got it?”

Swallowing hard, Bucky nods again. This time, Steve leans in and taps his ear.

“What's that?”

Bucky bites down on his lip and whimpers. “Yes, sir.”

“That's better.” Steve pets Bucky’s head. His eyes fall closed and he breathes out softly. “My good boy. So, if you go out with a customer--”

“Not tonight. Tomorrow, maybe, but not tonight. I… I wanna have this for a least one full day.”

“Bucky,” Steve breathes. “You don’t have to wor--”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he interrupts. “I shouldn’t’ve said that. Can we just pretend I didn’t? And instead, say I said okay? Or… however, you want to… what would make it… y’know, better?”

Better? What would make it better is if such thoughts didn’t cross his poor mind at all. If all of Bucky’s heart was soaked in golden streaks of sunlight and never drenched in any shadows cast by others. But all Steve can do is show him over and over that he won’t be another shadow. 

Steve fixes his hand to the side of Bucky’s neck. “We’ll make this work, Bucky. I know we will. As long as you still want to try. So just say yes, okay?” 

“Yes,” Bucky murmurs. “I’ll tell you whenever I have a customer and I’ll call you right after I call Nat.”

“Okay. Good.”

Just like he promised earlier, Bucky’s installed that app onto Steve’s phone. It won’t get rid of Steve’s worry completely, but all of this will help. 

“Well.” Bucky fixes the bag Steve gave him around his wrist. “I should get going.” 

“Right.” As much as Steve doesn’t want him to leave, at least they can part the way Steve’s longed to. “C’mere, you.” 

Steve draws him in for a kiss. Bucky’s lips are so soft and sweet and taste so good against his own. 

“Don’t go,” Steve says into the kiss. “Stay with me.” 

Bucky giggles and goes on kissing. “I can’t.”

“Sure you can.” Steve’ll keep kissing him just to have him a little longer. “It’ll be easy.”

“Mm.” Bucky takes a grip in Steve’s hair. “I know but…”

“No buts.”

Bucky gives up on talking and just deepens the kiss, pulling on Steve’s shirt. Steve takes the cue and pushes him against the door so they can kiss and kiss and kiss. 

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky whines, panting and breathless, pinned to the door and not quite able to pull away. “I gotta _go_.”

Sighing, Steve leaves his mouth pressed against Bucky’s lips for just a moment longer before moving. 

“Okay okay,” he says. “I’ll let you go. Just leave me here. All abandoned and alone.”

“Oh my god.” Bucky scoffs and kisses his cheek. “And you say _I’m_ dramatic.” 

“You have a flare for the dramatics.” Steve chuckles and ruffles Bucky’s hair, making it even messier. “Go on, go. Before I don’t let you.” 

Bucky nods and reaches for the doorknob. “I’ll text you when I get home?”

“You better.” Steve goes to grab Bucky’s hoodie from off the hook. His hand freezes around it. He freezes. Even the hoodie freezes. 

Steve takes the hoodie down and hands it over. The hesitation has Bucky’s eyebrows stitched, confusion turning his lips down. 

“What’s wrong, Steve?”

“Nothing. I just.” Steve turns back to the hooks and reaches into the plastic bag that’s been hanging there for several weeks now. “Here. It looks better on you anyway.”

The hat is lopsided and falls too low over Bucky’s brow, and yet it’s somehow a perfect fit. Just like it always was. Maybe it’s belonged to Bucky since the day Steve first put it on his head. 

Bucky pushes the brim up with one finger, revealing a big, toothy grin. 

“Damn right it does.” He’s holding onto stronger emotions. Covering it with fake arrogance, Steve can see that much. Especially when he’s suddenly throwing himself at Steve and wrapping his arms around his waist. “Thank you, Steve. For everything. I… I love you.” 

“I love you, too, Bucky.” 

They exchange a few more words of farewell. A few endearments. Some more kisses and Steve’s teasing attempts at getting Bucky to stay. The inevitable does happen though. Bucky leaves with the promise that he’ll text as soon as he gets home and agreeing again that they’ll meet for lunch tomorrow. 

And then Steve is once again alone in his apartment. 

Everything's the same. 

Same walls, same floors, same ceilings. 

All the furniture and appliances are the same.

But everything's different.

It’s lighter, brighter, somehow, having Bucky in every corner. In all the bones and stitches. In Steve’s heart that beats for him. 

And Steve pushes away from the door with a smile on his face, knowing that no matter what happens now, his life will never be the same again. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to check me out on tumblr at [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/)!


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